THE 

LITTLE 
WATERFOLKS 

CLARENCE HAWKES 




dass_(Si_75i- 

Book JAl&d- 

Copyright N° 



COPVR1GIIT DEPOSIT. 




HE WOULD PICK UP A SUCKER AS EASILY AS HE WOULD A STICK. 




Sfories 
ofj[ake and 





^/ZuFhor* of 

7bej(iffLe foresters, 

and Stories of fhes-* 

Good Gree/PWood 



IllusI-rGfecZ by 



Charles\ Copeland 







\ 



NEWYORK 

THOMAS Y.CfiOWELL &C? 

PUBLISHERS 



L1-.73**Y of CONGRESS £ 
• Two Copies Racelvad * 

! JUL 16 \9Q7 
, -rCopwigfrt Entry 

<0lAS3 tL XXC, No, 






Copyright, 1907, 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 



DEDICATED TO THE BOY WHO SEES. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

My Little Water-Folks— Introductory.. 1 

I. A Twenty-Dollar Coat 9 

II. The People of Frog Hollow 29 

III. Blueback, the Frog-Catcher 53 

IV. Little Musky's Story , 73 

V. The Revenge op the Blue Horde 85 

VI. The Little Fisherman 97 

VII. The Water- Weasel 114 

VIII. The Boy with the Dinner-Pail 122 

IX. The Tale of a Turtle 141 



THE LITTLE WATEK-FOLKS 



It was a red-letter day in the many won- 
derful days of childhood, when I ran away 
from home, across an orchard and half-way 
through a meadow, to the wild foreign banks 
of Willow Brook. 

It was not quite out of sight of the house, 
this mysterious foreign land into which I 
had come, but home looked so far away and 
I was such a very small boy, that I was 
almost a mind to cry, or run home quick, 
before some one came along and stole me, as 
I had heard they did poor Charlie Boss. 

But I finally overcame this terror of being 
so far from home, and drabbled my little red 
kilt skirts in the shallows of Willow Brook 
until I looked as though I had fallen in. 

It was the setting sun and lengthening 
shadows that finally lent wings to my small 



2 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

legs, and filled my heart with terror, so that 
I fled home like a frightened deer. 

If Willow Brook with its bright shallows 
and its deep pool full of minnows and polly- 
wogs was my first childish water-love, the 
old mill-pond was my second. 

When I was told that I could go to school 
for the first time the following week, I re- 
plied, " My, won't that be great ! I can go 
by the old mill-pond and see the wheels go 
round every day." 

My third water-love was a sparkling wood- 
land lake that we passed on the road to 
town, which trip I occasionally took with 
my father. 

When we came to the top of the long hill, 
by standing up on the seat I could just get a 
glimpse of the bright waters shimmering 
through the distant tree-tops. 

How my little heart would thump when I 
saw the first sparkling shimmer of this wood- 
land lake ! " There it is, Papa, I see it," I 
would shout in my shrill treble. 

It was not only for themselves that I loved 



THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 3 

Willow Brook, the old mill-pond, and the 
woodland lake, but for my little water-people, 
who lived in and about them. How lacking 
a brook would be without minnows or any 
sign of fish life ! How uninteresting a mill- 
pond, without pickerel or perch, or if there 
were no muskrat houses upon the banks ! 

So you see the streams and the lakes are 
interesting for the life they hold, as well as 
for their own sweet beauty. 

Pinheads, minnows and pollywogs, caught 
in a palm-leaf hat, are every country boy's 
first achievement, as a fisherman. After 
that comes the bent pin and twine string 
period ; but if he is a wide-awake boy, these 
things will not satisfy for long, and by the 
time he is six or seven years old, he will be 
fishing, with a real hook and line, bought at 
the country store with pennies saved during 
many weeks for the purpose. 

But, when that real fishline with a real 
hook at the end is at last fastened to a 
peeled ironwood pole, your little fisherman 
is the happiest boy in the world. 



4: THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

What would I not give now to follow that 
barefooted urchin down the course of Wil- 
low Brook, stepping from stone to stone, 
nicely balancing that peeled ironwood fish- 
pole. 

If the joy of it would only come back I 
could carry my fish on a willow stringer and 
leave my jointed rod, reel and fish-basket at 
home, and even be content to catch red fins 
and shiners. 

But Willow Brook did not belong entirely 
to me, although I thought it did. A noisy 
quarrelsome king-fisher called it his partic- 
ular fishing preserve, and he was as angry 
when I appeared as though he had been the 
real owner, and had kept the brook posted 
with the sign, ' ' All small boys are strictly 
forbidden fishing in this brook. Signed, Mr. 
Bluebelted King Fisher." 

For a long time the marsh where Willow 
Brook struggled into existence was a fearful 
place, and one that I hardly dared penetrate, 
for to my small mind it was haunted by a 
terrible demon, or some unheard of beast. 



THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 5 

When I first heard that wild hollow boom- 
ing sound, coming as though from the inside 
of the earth and rolling across the marsh so 
mysteriously I fled in terror without stopping 
to investigate. But after a while my boyish 
curiosity was rewarded by finding out the 
great boomer who had terrified me. 

He was only just an American bittern 
when one had discovered the fact, and no 
more to be feared than a night-hawk, al- 
though he sounded like the evil one. 

Down by the little bridge where "Willow 
Brook crossed a lonely old roadway, that I 
sometimes took to school, lived my ducklings 
in a tree, as I called them. Their habits were 
so different from those of other ducks, that 
I would have been interested in them had 
even they not been my particular property. 

The great American blue heron who fished 
in the old mill-pond and builded his nest in 
the top of a tall pine was more of a study 
even than the wood ducks, for he was hard 
to spy upon. His eyesight was of the keen- 
est and his hearing was just as good. His 



6 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

eye would nearly always search me out when 
I thought I was unobserved, and then he 
would go sailing away, and there would be 
no more frog-catching that day. 

If I were to tell you here of the two sleek 
otters who had their slide on the north bank 
of the pond, where I could see them at their 
play from an upper window in the old mill, 
I might spoil the story of " A Twenty-Dollar 
Coat," so you will have to read that for 
yourself. 

Out on the cranberry bog was a half dozen 
comical houses, looking for all the world like 
haycocks. But when one got near to them 
they were seen to be much larger than the 
ordinary haycock. 

This was the home of a large muskrat 
colony, and they could be seen to good ad- 
vantage when the high water flooded their 
houses in the spring, and they had to take 
refuge on small islands out of reach of the 
flood. 

The playful mink too frequented the banks 
of Willow Brook, but I did not like him, al- 



THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS *J 

though he and his family are as playful as 
kittens. The mink is a cruel, bloodthirsty 
fellow, and he catches a great many fish, and 
of course I wanted to catch the fish myself. 
But these boyhood days are past for me, 
and it is for you, boys, who read this book, to 
make the most of yours. Be joyous like the 
little brook that turns your toy mill-wheel. 
Be pure, like the little stream that laves 
your bare feet. Be industrious like the 
stream that feeds the mill-pond and turns 
the miller's wheel, and be happy while you 
are yet a boy. 



CHAPTER I 

A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 

When I was a barelegged, freckled-faced 
boy, going to school at the little brick school- 
house down in the Hollow (pronounced 
Holler, by the country people), there were 
many things in earth and air that interested 
me. Many a hard nut, aside from those that 
rattled down from walnut or butternut trees, 
nature gave me to crack. Some of them came 
open after I had pounded my fingers many 
times, but others are mysteries to this day ; 
secrets that the human mind cannot see into 
or understand. 

The mere walking to and from school at 

morning and evening was like a pleasant 

book, whose pages I never tired of turning, 

for there was alwavs some new story told by 

9 



10 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

the changing seasons ; or, it was an old 
story that I had heard before, but in such a 
gay new dress that I did not recognize it. 

Close by the schoolhouse ran a little brook. 
It was so near that one could almost have 
thrown a hook into the water from one 
of the back windows. This stream was the 
daily companion of the boys and girls, and 
was really an essential part of the school life. 
I can hear it now as I write, gurgling and 
laughing, inviting one to forget Colburn's 
arithmetic, or how many bones there are in 
the human body, and just dream of fern- 
fringed, moss-covered banks, and deep pools 
where the trout loves to lie. 

A few rods above the schoolhouse was the 
old mill, now fallen into disuse, and covered 
with clematis and festooned with cobwebs 
and dust. 

But the quaint log dam, built like a child's 
cob house, still held water enough to make a 
very respectable pond, large enough for skat- 
ing and boating. The pond nestled just 
under a pine woods, and above the dark plumes 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT H 

of the firs was the ragged blue sky line. It 
was a restful, dreamy spot, where one could 
build air-castles and plan what to do when 
a man. The water was clear and the ice 
usually transparent, so that I have fre- 
quently seen two pine forests and two sky 
lines, one above, and the other under the ice 
in the clear water. 

There were other creatures, aside from the 
occupants of the brick schoolhouse, who 
were interested in the pond. This was made 
evident by many small tracks in the mud 
along the bank, and by two large muskrat 
houses at the upper end. But the pond was 
chiefly celebrated for a pair of otters that had 
made it their home for several seasons. 

The old mill greatly aided us boys in 
watching them, as we could enter on the op- 
posite side from the pond, and observe these 
wary animals through the windows that 
overlooked the water* 

The otters' favorite shore was next to the 
pine woods, where we afterward discovered 
that they had a burrow under the roots of 



12 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

an old tree. They were long, sleek animals, 
very graceful in the water, but more awk- 
ward on land. They were as playful and 
frolicsome as kittens, and had many romps 
upon the slippery, sloping banks. Their 
principal amusement was coasting or sliding, 
and they seemed to have as much fun in it as 
any boy possessing the best of sleds. In the 
summer they slid down the slippery bank 
into the water. This coast was rather short, 
but in the winter, they would run down 
the bank and slide on the ice nearly across 
the pond. They slid upon their breasts with 
the fore legs doubled up under them at either 
side, and the hind legs trailing. As the legs 
of the otter are set well up on his sides, they 
are not in the way when he is sliding. 

One winter afternoon when we boys were 
skating on the pond, we discovered a large 
trout a foot or two below the ice, and all 
gathered round to admire it ; for what boy 
will not leave any kind of sport to feast his 
eyes on a trout. We were standing about, 
discussing whether trout slept in the winter 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 13 

or not, and how they sustained life, when a 
black streak shot under us. Where it came 
from or where it went we never knew. It 
moved so quickly that we could not tell what 
it was, but the great trout was gone. 

One June morning Billy Bowlegs, a simple 
farm boy in the neighborhood, shouldered an 
old shotgun, loaded with large shot, and 
started after crows which were making sad 
work in his father's corn. 

This was perfectly right and proper, but as 
ill fortune would have it, Billy blundered 
upon the otters at play on the bank of the 
pond, and without a serious thought of what 
he was doing, raised the gun and fired. He 
probably would not have gone out of his way 
to have shot at the otters, for he knew their 
fur was not good at this time of the year, but 
there they were, and he had the gun in his 
hand, and before he realized it the mischief 
was done. It was nevertheless a wicked act, 
and one that should always be punished. 

When the smoke from the old shotgun 
cleared away, both otters were seen to be hit. 



14 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

One was kicking in his last agony, and the 
other was quite dead. They had been in line 
and only a few rods away, and the large shot 
had done the rest. 

Rather shamefacedly Billy carried home 
the dead otters. At first he thought he 
would be a hero, but instead, every one called 
him a fool, and the sheriff threatened him 
with arrest. 

A day or two later it occurred to some one 
that there might be a litter of young otters 
somewhere in the bank, and half a dozen 
boys and men went to look for the burrow. 
At last they found it under the roots of an 
old pine, but it was necessary to dig it open 
from the top to see what it contained. Two 
little winking, blinking, otter pups were! 
found, one of them too weak to do more 
than gasp, but the other had strength enough 
left to whine feebly. 

Ned Hawley claimed them, as he had first 
thought of looking for them, so he put 
them in his coat pockets and made all haste 
home. 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 15 

Milk, fed from a spoon, soon revived the 
small otter who had cried, but the other one 
was too far gone, and the next morning was 
dead. But the remaining otter pup thrived 
upon clear milk, and later on bread and milk, 
and took to his new home and friends almost 
as though he had been a dog. His sturdiness 
and self-reliance, and the way that he had 
of getting out of all difficulties, with his fur 
whole, soon gained him the name of Trojan, 
and it is with Trojan that this story has to 
do. 

By midsummer Trojan was as large as a 
small cat, and as frolicsome as a kitten. 
His first aversion was for dogs, and when he 
was but four or five months old, he drove a 
puppy, twice his size, from the back room 
where he lived. 

His first love was fish, and he would even go 
to the cat's dish for that dainty, although he 
well knew the uncertainty of pussy's temper, 
and the very sharp arguments for her own 
rights, that she concealed in her velvet paws. 
Trojan knew all these things ; he had learned 



16 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

them by hard bites and scratches, but the 
smell of that fish was too much for him. 
Besides, why did they always give the fish 
heads to the cat, when he was so fond of 
them? 

It was most interesting to watch Trojan's 
growth and his development of likes and dis- 
likes. 

The old cat, whose milk dish he coveted, 
was tolerated, but dogs he abhorred from 
his puppyhood. If they were too large for 
him to attack, he would slink under some 
bench or friendly shelter, and stand there 
eying the intruder with beady eyes, not for- 
getting to show his teeth and growl. His own 
characteristics were more those of the canine 
family whom he so hated, than those of the 
cat whom he rather liked. If, on the other 
hand, the dog was somewhere near his size, 
he at once gave battle, and he was so much 
more agile than his enemy, that he usually 
got the better of his canine foe and drove 
him away discomfited. 

He early learned that water was his natural 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 17 

element, and always when too hard pressed 
would take refuge in a ditch in the meadows 
at the back of the house. The water was 
never very deep in the ditch, but it was over- 
grown with lush grass, and made splendid 
cover. 

By the first autumn Trojan had attained 
about one third his full growth, and his coat 
was sleek and glossy. 

The first winter he accidentally learned 
the art of sliding, and after that he would 
play at it for an hour at a time with as much 
zest as a child. He was lying upon the bank- 
ing at the back of the house. There was 
a glare crust and he slipped from his place, 
and went sliding, tail first, down into the 
meadow. This so pleased him that he tried it 
again. He soon discovered that it was plea- 
santer to go head first, then he could see 
where he was going. After he had taken 
the slide he was all eagerness to return to 
the starting place, and would scramble back 
at his greatest speed. 

He also learned to give himself a good 



18 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

strong shove with his hind legs when he 
started. This made the slide longer and 
swifter. He held his forelegs doubled back 
up under him, and his head just high enough 
to clear the glare crust. This was a sport he 
never tired of, even when he was five or six 
years old. 

No one ever knew just how he learned to 
fish. But the instinct was so strong within 
him, that he took to it, as a duck does to 
water. 

Sometimes the boys would come across 
him on the banks of a stream, when they 
would throw to him all the dace and red fins 
upon their stringers. Perhaps he was given 
the first brook fish, and saw that it was good, 
or maybe he went into the water and made 
the discovery all by himself. But this is 
certain, Trojan was a great fisherman. 

He never splashed or floundered about in 
the water like a dog, but his every movement 
was as silent and gliding as though the water 
had been air. He slipped into the stream 
smoothly and silently, and when he appeared 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 19 

on shore, there was very little ripple or 
splash. 

He would pick up a sucker in a straight- 
away swim as easily as he would a stick. 
Kiver dace and perch were also easy for 
him to take. Quite frequently too, he sur- 
prised a large trout, that would be sunning 
standing with his head up stream gently 
fanning the water with his fins. 

I do not know how he managed it, for the 
trout can move through the water so fast 
that the eye can scarcely follow him, but it 
was probably by stealth. Maybe he was 
lying in the shallow water with his nose just 
showing above the surface, looking for all 
the world like an old log, when the trick was 
done. 

He always brought his catch on shore and 
held it between his paws, as a dog would a 
bone, while he ate it. 

The second autumn, the long hairs that 
sprinkle the pelt of the otter, giving it a 
ragged appearance before it is plucked, ap- 
peared. But the fur was wonderfully soft 



20 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

and luxuriant. A coat that any four-footed 
creature might well be proud of. 

But Trojan was probably all unconscious 
of how his warm coat was coveted by man. 
All he knew was that it fitted him well, and 
was warm and altogether suited to his needs. 

When he was fully grown he was a beau- 
tiful specimen of our most valuable, fur- 
bearing animal, measuring nearly four feet 
from tip to tip. Of this two and a half feet 
was head and body, and sixteen inches tail. 

The tail was not so bushy as that of a fox, 
yet it was well furred, and quite ornamental. 
His body was round and lithe. His head 
was rather small and a little flattened. His 
ears were small and nestled so closely in his 
fur, that you had to look twice to see them. 
The entrance was guarded by a fur-covered 
water pad, with which he could close his ear 
at will, and keep it entirely dry inside. His 
visage was quite whiskery, especially when 
he was angry. 

Trojan's most memorable battle with dogs 
was that in which he stood off two, each 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 21 

larger than himself, with scarcely a scratch 
upon his sleek coat, while both dogs were 
badly chewed. 

The otter's cage or den stood in a corner 
between the main house and the ell. It was 
a cute little house, three or four feet high 
with iron bars, and a swing door at the 
front. At first Trojan had been confined in 
this house, but finally he was left to go and 
come as he pleased. 

Once dogs came upon him when he was 
eating a fish head, and though he was not 
prepared for them, he backed up into a corner 
near his house, and did battle like his name- 



At first he merely contented himself with 
keeping them at bay, but by degrees his love 
of battle got the better of him and he went 
in for blood. 

His snake-like head and long neck shot 
out like a flash, and he nipped a piece out of 
one of his assailant's ears. Finally they 
closed upon him, thinking to take his cita- 
del by storm, but he bounded lightly over 



22 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

their backs, leaving his mark as he went, 
and took refuge in another corner. Then he 
caught one of his antagonists by the gristle 
of the nose, and the poor canine's yelps of 
pain soon brought men to the scene, and the 
battle was stopped. After this the dogs 
gave the otter a wide berth. 

The fourth year of his domesticated life, 
Trojan made himself a burrow on the bank 
of a famous trout stream that ran through 
the meadow, a quarter of a mile from the 
house. This burrow was located under the 
roots of a water elm, and had two entrances, 
one above the water and one beneath. 

This was a safeguard against having his 
retreat cut off. If an enemy appeared above 
the ground he could disappear beneath the 
water. If the enemy came from the water 
door, he would flee through the other. But 
there was no quadruped that swam in New 
England waters that Trojan feared. 

As he grew older the tendency to return 
to his wild haunts grew upon him, and he 
made frequent long trips along the water 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 23 

courses in the neighborhood. We boys would 
occasionally come across him two or three 
miles from home. He was not companion- 
able at such times, but always slunk away 
as though he did not want us to see him. 
But he never quite forgot his little house 
with the swing door, and the fish head that 
was usually awaiting him at the hand of his 
good friends. 

There are many stories still told at the 
brick house of this strangely domesticated 
wild creature, who in his tamed state is so 
nearly like a dog. But the most celebrated 
of all his capers cost me a split bamboo trout 
rod, and my reputation as the crack boy 
fisherman of the neighborhood. 

An argument arose one day as to which 
of us boys was the better angler, and it was 
finally decided to test it by a day's fishing. 
Each boy was to go when and where he 
pleased on a certain day, and we would meet 
at night and compare our catches. 

The morning of our fishing contest, I was 
astir bright and early, and by half -past five 



24 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

was hurrying through the meadows, drag- 
ging a home-made hickory fish-pole after me 
in the grass. It was an ideal day for trout, 
just a little overcast, and not too warm. 

The speckled beauties bit that morning as 
though I had been the only eager fisherman 
in the world, and that the only day in which 
they could bite. By noon I had about forty 
as pretty trout as ever made a boy's eyes 
dance. 

The stringer upon which I was carrying 
my fish was rather large, and occasionally a 
fish tore out at the gills and fell off. To 
remedy this difficulty I concluded to leave 
this string in some place, and get it on my 
return down stream. It was a careless thing 
to do, but I was at the careless age, so I 
pulled a handful of brakes and wrapped the 
trout in them, and thrust them in a hollow 
log, marking the spot carefully by a little 
waterfall. There would be no mistaking it 
when I returned. 

I was gone about three hours, stopping for 
lunch, and took ten or fifteen more trout, 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 25 

and felt sure that the split bamboo was 
mine, for my catch now numbered over fifty 
fish. 

When I returned to the old log for the first 
string, my suspicion was at once aroused, for 
the brakes in which I had wrapped the trout 
were scattered about, and there was a fish 
head on the ground near by. I thrust my 
arm further and further into the cavity, but 
could find no fish. 

Then I began examining the dirt about 
the log, and made out the clean-cut foot- 
prints of an otter. Trojan, was the word 
that came instinctively to my lips. Trojan, 
Trojan, how could you have done such a 
thing ? And as I looked at my remaining 
string visions of the new rod that had been 
so bright a few moments before, grew dim. 

I found the willow switch on which the 
fish had been strung, a few rods further 
down the stream, and there were several fish 
heads scattered about. Half a mile further 
down I came upon the otter lying on a rock 
in the middle of the stream. 



26 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

When he saw me he slipped into the water, 
and went swiftly away. When I returned 
home, he was lying in the further end of his 
cage, saying plainly by his actions, "I did 
not steal your fish." 

My last meeting with Trojan was so pa- 
thetic, that I forgave him the theft of my 
trout and remembered him only as one of 
the most engaging domesticated wild animals 
that I ever knew. 

I was hunting woodcock with a boy friend. 
The birds had come in the night before, 
and were very plenty. Our old liver-colored 
pointer Dan was doing good service, and we 
were having quite a day of it. 

We were going through some heavy cover 
near a brook, when I noticed a queer move- 
ment in a clump of willows, and went nearer 
to investigate. 

I could hardly believe my eyes when I be- 
held Trojan, the pet of the neighborhood, 
tugging and straining in a trap. This in it- 
self would not have been so bad, but he was 
in a sorry plight. 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 27 

He had torn out several of his front teeth 
on the trap, and had broken his leg so badly 
that the jagged end of the bone showed 
through the ragged and torn flesh. His 
eyes were large with pain, and his whole as- 
pect was most pitiful. He had seen me and 
had made frantic efforts to attract my atten- 
tion, probably thinking that I could at once 
put him right. 

But no human skill could have mended 
that jagged paw, and I knew that Trojan's 
case was hopeless. 

I was just considering what was the best 
way of putting him out of his misery and 
wishing there was some one else to do it, 
when the alder bushes parted, and old Tom 
Knowland looked in upon me. Tom was a 
famous trapper, and the trap on Trojan's 
fore paw was his. 

" Hello," he said, not seeing the otter. 
" Seen anything of one of my traps walking 
off with a good heavy clog. Must be some- 
thing big in it." 

"You old fool," I replied, forgetting my 



28 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

manners in my sorrow. " You have caught 
Trojan." 

" Trojan, Trojan," repeated Tom, in aston- 
ishment. " By Ginger, that's too bad. Too 
durn bad. I'll let him go." 

"It won't do any good," I replied, "he's 
too done up, you'd better kill him." 

Then I hurried away, not wishing to look 
behind. Through milkweed and brambles I 
pushed, with a reckless ferocity. The sun 
still shone brightly, but somehow it looked 
dim and sorrowful. I did not care if there 
were more woodcock in the cover, for some- 
thing had already happened in the alder- 
bushes yonder, that had put the day out of 
joint for me. 



CHAPTER II 

THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 

There is one event in the calendar of on- 
coming spring that the country people al- 
ways heed ; and that is the first peeping of 
the hyla, the smallest and bravest of all the 
frogs, who pipes in the shrillest of voices, 
" Spring, Spring, Spring." 

When the farm boy hears that first shrill 
peeping from the meadow land, or the swale, 
it is a signal to him that one portion of the 
winter's labor is over, and that is the sugar 
season. All good sugar makers know that 
after this faithful sign from the little green 
folks down in the meadows, that it will be 
useless to keep out the sap pails any longer. 
So the woodshod sled goes its rounds through 
the sugar-bush for the last time, and pails are 
gathered, washed and put away in readiness 
for next year, and all because the little green 
29 



30 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

prophets down in the meadow have given 
the signal. 

Frog-Hollow, where these little frog folks 
lived, was a strip of lowland bordering a 
lonely country road, that my bare feet 
traveled daily during the school terms, and 
less frequently in summer time. 

To my childish fancy Frog-Hollow was 
peopled with hobgoblins and phantoms, as 
well as frogs. I had never seen any of these 
apparitions, but I had seen strange will-o'- 
the-wisps, and that was almost as bad. When 
a pillar of fire, like that which guided the 
Israelites, traveled about the meadows, un- 
aided, such soil was no place for a small boy 
after dark. 

In addition to all this, I was not quite sure 
but that our own Frog-Hollow and the 
" Sleepyhollow " in Irving's Sketch Book 
were not one and the same place. It cer- 
tainly answered the description nicely. So 
I might meet the headless Andre, almost any 
night, riding upon his black charger, in search 
of his head. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW SI 

From all these childish imaginings, you 
will see that Frog-Hollow was a strange and 
awesome place and a region to be shunned 
after dark. 

Many a night I have stood upon the 
little bridge just where the bog was deep- 
est, listening to the old familiar frog song 
from which the place was named. 

This was in the gloaming, while the after- 
glow still lighted the western sky, but when 
the first bright star pricked through the 
dusky sky near the horizon, I fled from the 
awful mysteries that hung over the swamp. 

Down in the swamp by the edge of the road, 

When the lamps of night appear, 
When the water is high and the meadows are flowed, 

A wonderful chorus I hear. 
O the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 
Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holier. 

O all through the night, of the early Spring, 
When the buds are beginning to swell, 

You may hear the frogs and the hylas sing, 
And a wonderful legend they tell, 

For the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 

Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holler. 



32 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

When the whip-poor-will sings, and the night-hawk 
on wings, 

As silent as footsteps of night, 
Is scouring the skies for small flying things, 

And the firefly is showing his light, 
Then the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 
Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holler. 

When the small boy was sent for cowslips 
he always swung a willow basket across his 
arm and started for Frog-Hollow. 

The sluggish little stream winding in and 
out among the cat-tails and water grasses, 
fringed with cranberry vines and mosses and 
choked with rushes and frog spittle was a 
famous place for cowslips. 

The monotony of picking cowslips was 
varied by many a pleasant surprise. Some- 
times it was an old green bullfrog, sitting be- 
neath a lily pad, still as a statue, contemplat- 
ing the brook, with his grave frog interest. 

At other times he would be sitting on a 
stone, catching flies, or perhaps he was tak- 
ing a sun-bath. 

He was a dignified, proud old fellow, al- 




HE WAS A DIGNIFIED PROUD OLD FELLOW. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 33 

ways dressed in the tastiest manner. How- 
well his green coat matches the green of the 
bank, and its reflection in the water and his 
yellow vest also was not easily seen. 

He never seemed to be much afraid of the 
boy, but any sudden motion on his part would 
send Mr. Frog to the bottom of the pool with 
a loud splash. You could always follow his 
course by a long muddy streak that he made 
in the water, and if you followed this to its 
end, you would see what looked at first like 
a small moss-covered stone, or the end of a 
stick, but if you looked more carefully you 
would make out Mr. Frog, lying on the 
muddy bottom of the stream in snug hiding. 

There was also the grass frog who lived in 
the grass along the shore, and the beautiful 
spotted wood frog, who never went to the 
brook at all, except to spawn. 

Both of these were interesting, but the old 
green bullfrog was the boy's favorite. One 
summer afternoon the boy was sitting under 
an old water-elm, down in the pasture by the 
side of a deep pool. The pasture land was 
3 



34 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

below Frog-Hollow, and here the stream was 
larger and clearer, and just by the elm the 
boy had dammed the stream, and he could 
occasionally catch bullheads here, if the day 
was not too clear, although they bit much 
better at night. 

But the bullheads had all gone to sleep to- 
day, and the boy leaned back against the 
trunk of the tree and dreamed a pleasant 
day-dream, while the waters flowed music- 
ally over the stones at his feet, and the 
silver-footed moments of the summer after- 
noon slipped silently by. 

What a fine thing it is to be a boy, the 
youngster thought, as he leaned comfortably 
against the tree, and looked across the pas- 
ture land to a distant herd of feeding cows. 
He could just hear the tinkle of old Speckle's 
bell, and it chimed in so nicely with the 
gurgle of the stream. A frog was croaking 
softly to himself in a distant pool, and his 
voice was sleepy and contented. How easy 
it was to dream, when all the world was 
dreaming too ! 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 35 

" Hello, what's up ? " called a frog almost 
at the boy's feet. These words had been 
spoken so plainly, although there was still 
the husky frog tone, that the boy started. 

When he at last made out his questioner 
in the pads so near that he could have poked 
him with his foot, the boy saw that the frog 
was smiling, and chuckling down in his yel- 
low throat. 

" What's up ? " repeated the old frog in his 
deep mellow voice. " I thought you did not 
look quite natural." 

" There isn't anything up that I know of," 
replied the boy sharply, for he thought the 
frog was making fun of him, and he did not 
like to be made fun of. 

He was reaching for a stick with which to 
poke this audacious fellow, when he chanced 
to look at his foot. His toes had suddenly 
become long and fibrous. In fact they were 
webbed, which gave them a queer feeling, 
as though they had all been tied together 
with a string. And the sole of his foot was 
shrunken. 



36 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

Then he glanced down at his leg. It, too, 
had shrunk, and instead of being covered 
with his brown overhauls, was dressed in a 
tight-fitting pair of green pants. If the boy 
had been astonished on seeing his green pants, 
he was amazed at his yellow vest, which he 
discovered a moment later. 

His astonishment was so great that he 
barely saved himself from pitching into the 
pool. But the second that he leaned over 
the bank showed him a strange face in the 
water. He looked again to make sure. 

But there was no mistaking the reflection. 
It was that of a great green bullfrog, fat 
and complacent, and well suited with his 
dress and deportment. 

" Come down," said the frog, whom the 
boy had first noticed. 

"Get wet," croaked the boy, and to his 
amazement his voice had a frog-like sound. 
" Get wet, get wet, what fun ! get wet, 
what sport ! " The old frog was making fun 
of him again, so the boy jumped, cleaving the 
water with the familiar chug. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 37 

He went down to the bottom of the pool 
as he had so often seen frogs do, and buried 
himself in the mud, just letting his head 
stick out, where he was presently joined by 
the old frog who had made fun of him. 

How cool and sweet the water seemed, 
after the hot upper air of a summer after- 
noon. Grasses and lily- pads were growing 
all about them, but they looked misty and 
rather indistinct, seen through the water. 

The sky too, was a hazy blue, and nearly 
everything looked as though seen through 
colored glass. 

The boy had not got his frog eyes fully 
developed, but after a few minutes he saw 
more clearly. 

" Pretty slick, pretty slick," croaked the 
old frog, who had joined the new arrival at 
the bottom of the pool. 

The boy imagined that the frog referred 
to his new suit, which really did fit him 
well. So he croaked back, " Quite good, 
quite good." 

" Your suit matches grass, matches pads, 



38 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

so boys don't see," piped the old frog. 
" Boys kill," he continued. 

The boy-frog now remembered several 
shameful excursions of his own after frogs 
and pollywogs, and he blushed, but said 
nothing. 

Presently there was a heavy thud, thud, 
on the bank, and the old frog croaked, " keep 
dark, keep still." 

The boy-frog peeped out from his screen 
of mud and saw a man with a fish-pole and 
a net. On the end of the line dangled a 
gang hook, which was decorated with a bit of 
bright red yarn. The bright color fascinated 
the boy-frog and made him uneasy. A 
strange impulse to jump at the thing which 
the man was dangling above, seized him. 
The old frog saw his peril and croaked, 
" Don't bite, don't bite, hook prick, hook 
prick." 

Then the boy-frog remembered. He had 
often caught frogs himself for the city people 
at the hotel. What a fool he had been to be 
so easily deceived. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 39 

So the two frogs at the bottom of the pool 
kept very quiet while the man dangled his 
bait above them ; after a while he went 
further up stream, and the tramp, tramp, on 
the bank grew fainter and fainter. 

When the man had gotten out of sight the 
old green bullfrog invited the boy-frog to 
come out on the bank, and the two sat on an 
old log and caught flies for an hour. 

"It is quite easy for frogs and toads to 
catch flies," said the old frog, getting confi- 
dential as he flicked in fly after fly. " You 
see nearly all the members of the batrachian 
family, to which the toads also belong, being 
first cousins of ours, have their tongues at- 
tached to the mouth at the front, and the end 
back in the throat is free. If a frog had his 
tongue fastened on the other way and had to 
run it out whenever he caught a fly he would 
never get one. Now all he has to do is to 
flick it out, and as the tongue is covered 
with a sticky substance Mr. Fly is caught 
and held." 

"Why is it that you frogs are all born 



40 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

tadpoles and why do you finally lose your 
tails," asked the boy-frog. 

" Well, I do not know that I can just an- 
swer that question," said the old bullfrog, 
flicking in a fly as he spoke. "I suppose 
it is more natural for our eggs to hatch in 
the fish shape. We are so small when we 
are first hatched that we could not support 
legs. 

" The reason we lose the tail finally is be- 
cause we have no further use for it, and na- 
ture always throws away the things that are 
useless. When we were small we needed 
the tail to swim with and to steer by, same 
as fish do, but now we can do both with our 
strong legs," and the old frog gave a great 
leap and a few vigorous strokes by way of 
illustration. When he reappeared on the 
log beside the boy-frog he continued : 

" I am going on a journey to a place called 
Frog-Hollow, where there is to be a great frog 
convention this very night, and if you wish 
you may go with me. We will meet many 
members of the frog family, and you may 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 41 

find out some interesting things about us 
batrachians." 

"What fun, what fun," piped the boy- 
frog, " let's go, let's go." 

At the bewitching hour of twilight they 
swam under the little bridge that crossed the 
road down in Frog-Hollow and came out into 
the swamp above. 

The boy-frog knew the spot quite well. 
He had often dangled his legs off the bridge 
and listened to the frogs in the swale, but 
to-night the place held new charms for him, 
and he knew that he should learn something 
of the mystery that had made the place so 
fearful to small boys after dark. 

The convention was to be held upon a little 
island midway in the stream. 

When the two travelers from the pasture 
reached the place of meeting, the spring cho- 
rus was in full blast, sounding just as the 
boy-frog had heard it many a time upon the 
lonely road, only to-night it was much louder 
than usual. 

The island and both banks of the stream 



42 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

were fairly covered with frogs, all piping, 
croaking, and bellowing away at the top of 
their voices. 

They ranged all the way in size from the 
tiny cricket frog, or hyla, who is the smallest 
of all the frogs, up to some green bayou 
frogs who had come to the convention from 
a distant lake. The largest of these monster 
frogs were six or eight inches in length, and 
their deep voices sounded like the lowing of 
cattle, in queer contrast to the shrill piccolo 
notes of the hyla. 

Then there was the wood-frog, dressed in 
his tan suit, croaking softly to himself. The 
grass-frog, too, was there, dressed in a suit 
that matched the grass to a nicety. 

The leopard-frog, a queer spotted fellow 
from the marsh, was also there. He was 
very vain of his suit that made him so differ- 
ent from his fellows. 

The toads were likewise represented, being 
first cousins to the frogs, and both belonging 
to the batrachian family. Most conspicuous 
among these was Bufo, the common hop- 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 43 

toad, who dwells under every boy's front door- 
step if he is not disturbed. Bufo was one of 
the lustiest of the musicians ; and although 
he kept to the bank of the stream, yet he 
swelled out his throat until he looked as 
though he had the mumps, and sent forth a 
high-keyed, rattling note that, heard upon 
a city street, would have brought the cop 
around the corner on the run. 

It must not be imagined that this wild, 
weird song was given in darkness, for just 
above the island the will-o'-the-wisp hung, 
and the firefly danced in and out, glowing 
brightly every few seconds. 

When the song had echoed across the marsh 
continuously for half an hour, a mighty 
bayou frog took a commanding position on 
the island, and called the convention to 
order. 

" Batrachians, attention," he bellowed in 
his deep voice, and the song was at once 
hushed. 

" It is now time for me to call to order 
the annual spring convention of the frogs 



44 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

and toads of many lakes, rivers and streams, 
who annually meet in this swale." At these 
words there were peeps and croaks of ap- 
proval. 

" It gives me great pleasure to again wel- 
come you to our meeting-place," continued 
the chairman in his deep voice, " and I am 
sure that much good will come of this meet- 
ing. 

" It will enable us to again see friends from 
distant marshes, to report upon doings in 
our own particular districts, and to devise 
ways and means for promoting our general 
good." 

" I wish you would not use such big 
words, " croaked an old frog from the bank, 
"Iain'teddycated." 

A chorus of croaks and gulps expressed 
the uncontrollable mirth of the convention 
at this confession from the old grandfather. 
But the chairman continued disdainfully. 

" If grandpa don't understand he had bet- 
ter go back to the tadpole state, and learn his 
lessons over again. I am afraid that when 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 45 

he was a tadpole his brains were in his tail, 
and when he lost that, he lost his wit." 

This retort completely silenced the old 
frog, so that he did not even croak again, 
during the entire meeting. 

"Now that I have welcomed you," con- 
tinued the chairman, " and expressed my 
good will for you all, and the hope that this 
will be our most successful convention, I 
call for our secretary's report." 

At this request Mr. Wood-Frog hopped 
forward and in a low croaking voice read the 
following report : 

' ' Fellow batrachians. Since our last meet- 
ing, which was held in this identical spot 
just a year ago to-night, great prosperity 
has been ours. It will be remembered that 
last year was a very wet season, and well 
suited to the wants and needs of frog folks. 
In every lake, stream, and I might almost 
say in every mudpuddle, our spawn was laid 
and hatched, so that we more than made up 
for our losses sustained in the great drought 
of two years ago. 



46 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

It is also a matter upon which to congratu- 
late ourselves that some of our enemies are 
growing fewer. Hawks, owls, minks, and 
muskrats are all less plenty than they were 
within my own memory. 

I think that the barbarous custom among 
men of catching us and serving our hind 
legs upon their breakfast table is likewise on 
the decline. My own particular branch of 
the family have not suffered in that way, 
but that of our worthy president has suffered 
grievously at their hands. However, we 
fare much better here in the United States 
than in Europe, where our cousins are 
slaughtered by the thousands. If the curious 
Frenchmen, who will eat almost anything, 
could only be persuaded to eat snakes they 
might confer a lasting benefit upon the whole 
frog family* 

Another thing upon which we may con- 
gratulate ourselves is, that children are 
being taught by their elders and in the public 
schools, kindness and consideration for all 
living things. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 4.7 

Men, who were not above stoning frogs in 
their youth, now discourage their own boys 
from such practices, and much good will 
come of it. 

The farmers, also, are finding out what a 
great benefit we are in the garden and in the 
fields, where we keep down bugs, grubs and 
insects that would destroy his crops. So he 
is glad to see us. 

If there was some way to get rid of our 
worst enemy, the blue heron, it would be a 
great help to the frog world. But I rejoice 
that the heron too is disappearing from our 
lakes and streams, where he once did such 
fearful execution. 

But we still have plenty of enemies, and it 
behooves us to be always on our guard, 
watchful and wary, for we know not. at 
what moment some of them will appear. 

It may be a pike, who can swallow a half- 
grown frog whole, or it may be a water 
snake who is coiled up on a stone in the 
middle of the stream. 

On the whole, I think it is safe to say that 



48 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

the year we have just passed has been most 
successful, and I congratulate the frogs of 
Frog-Hollow upon this fact. With this 
pleasant assurance I will conclude my re- 
port." 

Amid a chorus of peeping, croaking and 
bellowing that fairly made the swamp ring, 
the report was accepted, and the meeting was 
declared open for general business. 

One great green frog moved that all the 
frog family adopt the regulation suit worn 
by his branch, namely, the green coat and 
pants with yellow vest. 

Other frogs argued, however, that the suit 
which each member of the family wore was 
best suited to his needs. 

The wood-frog argued that the green coat 
and pants would be entirely out of place in 
the woods upon brown leaves. " My own 
tan-colored suit blends nicely with autumn 
leaves," he said, "but the green suit would 
leave me an easy prey to all my enemies." 

So the mover of the green suit motion saw 
that he had made a mistake and withdrew. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 49 

Bufo, the hop-toad, defended his branch of 
the family from the ridicule of leopard frog, 
who had charged the toads with being ugly, 
and too plain dressers, by saying that their 
plain brown suit was the best calculated to 
screen them from their enemies. He said 
that he could lie in a dirt pile all day long 
and not be discovered. 

" What value is a gaudy suit," he asked, 
" after you have had the life hammered out 
of you, or been swallowed by a snake ? " He 
further said that the " frogs need not give 
themselves any airs, as the toads were much 
more useful, and more highly esteemed by 
man." He concluded his speech by saying 
that leopard frog's brains were all in his heels, 
so the toads did not mind his croaking. 
When the discussion of matters pertaining 
to the numerous family of batrachians, of 
which the chairman informed the conven- 
tion that there were nine branches, contain- 
ing no less than four hundred and forty 
species, had been concluded, the meeting was 
adjourned for another year, and games and 



50 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

sports were indulged in until the cool hours 
of early morning. 

Leopard frog, the champion jumper from 
the marsh, gave an exhibition of his skill. 
With two or three jumps in which to get 
under headway, he cleared the stream where 
it was four feet across, and he jumped it 
easily where it was a yard across at a stand- 
ing jump. 

Hyla, the cricket frog, the smallest of all 
the frogs, gave an exhibition of skinning one's 
self, and then eating the skin. A feat that 
most of us would not care to perform. 

He first started the membranous skin at 
the corners of his mouth and then with his 
forefeet pulled the skin covering his head 
into his mouth. With his strong forked 
tongue he then forced this portion of his 
skin down his throat. Then by the most 
vigorous kicking he kicked himself out of 
the rest of his suit, and deliberately swal- 
lowed the entire covering of his nimble 
body. The whole performance taking only 
a few minutes. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 51 

Another amusement that made much 
mirth was a duet between hyla and one of 
the great bayou frogs. The hyla peeped 
away at the top of his voice and the mighty 
bass bullfrog sounded his deepest notes. The 
test was to see which could drown out the 
other. But when the duet had lasted for 
half an hour and hyla was still peeping lust- 
ily, and the deep bass was booming away 
with might and main, it was declared a 
draw. The meeting was brought to a close 
by a fine game of water-tag and hide-and- 
seek, varied with much rough-and-tumble 
sport. 

When the stars began to fade and a pale 
streak was appearing in the east and soft 
white mist began creeping up from the swale, 
all went their several ways. 

The boy- frog and his friend went back to 
the pasture, and the boy-frog hopped out on 
the bank under the tree where the stranger 
had found him. 

"How ugly you are becoming," said the 
bullfrog as he bade the boy-frog good-bye. 



52 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

" I really believe you are turning back into 
a boy again." 

The boy-frog looked down at his feet and 
saw that they were no longer webbed, but 
were the bruised and scratched feet of a bare- 
footed boy. 

He also no longer wore the gray green 
pants which he had become quite proud of, 
but instead his old brown overalls. 

"I believe I am half afraid of you," said 
the frog, " guess I had better be going." 

Then the old cruel impulse came to the boy 
and he reached for a stick. 

With a splash the frog clove the water and 
dove to the bottom ! and remembering what 
he had just heard, the boy threw away his 
stick and looked off across the fields at the 
setting sun. 

How late it was getting. What a long 
day-dream he had had while the swift sum- 
mer hours slipped by ! He would drive home 
the cows and that would excuse him for 
staying so long in the pasture. 



CHAPTER III 

BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 

• Probably the most interesting of all the 
shy water-folks who frequented the old mill- 
pond, about which so many pleasant boy- 
hood memories cluster, was Blueback, the 
frog-catcher. 

He was the most wary and cunning of 
them all, and this very fact made him more 
interesting. It is not the discoveries that 
come so easy in the woods or waters that are 
worth trying for, but those that take pa- 
tience and the ability to watch days, weeks, 
or even a whole season, for the desired glimpse 
of nature that we are seeking. 

What country-born boy is there who has 

not a picture of some old mill-pond that 

stands out distinctly among the brightest and 

best pictures of boyhood. Why should he 

not remember it ? Did not the old pond f ur- 
53 



54 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

nish him swimming and boating, fishing and 
skating, and was not its bright glimmering 
surface a picture that always pleased and 
rested his eyes ? How many a time I have 
stood up in the old buggy as we drove to 
town that I might get the first bright glimpse 
of the old mill-pond, just seen through a 
vista of pine woods. 

This same pine woods did more to help me 
in my observations of the frog-catcher than 
any other thing. 

One side of the pond was skirted by a broad 
pasture, which afforded no cover, from which 
to observe the heron. I never could stalk 
him from this side of the pond and get near 
enough to see what he was doing ; but on the 
other side it was different, there was the pine 
woods which crowded close up to the water, 
where all the blue-green plumes were mir- 
rored in its depths. 

By making a long detour and coming down 
to the pond through the pine woods, I could 
usually get a good chance to watch the queer 
old bird on stilts. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 55 

Even then he sometimes got the start of 
me, and the first intimation that I would 
have that I had been discovered, I would see 
him slanting gracefully up into the air, fly- 
ing easily and swiftly, with his long legs 
dangling below. His hearing and eyesight 
were truly remarkable, for the pine woods 
were carpeted with needles, and the bare 
feet of a boy made almost no sound, espe- 
cially when he went with tense muscles, 
stepping on the ball of his foot like an In- 
dian, as he crept from tree to tree like a 
shadow. 

The heron always frequented the other 
side, where he could see and no one could 
creep on hjm unawares. Even at the nar- 
rowest point the pond was twenty rods across, 
so it will be seen that the heron's powers of 
perception were of the keenest. 

I was greatly aided in observing this shy 
bird by an old field-glass, which a local hero, 
a captain in the Civil War, had loaned me. 
This glass seemed to bring old Blueback up 
to within thirty or forty feet of me, where 



56 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

all his antics and his manner of hunting and 
fishing were plainly seen. 

It is not common for the heron family to 
live a pair in a place, as these two birds who 
frequented our neighborhood did, for they 
are gregarious, living in quite large commu 
nities which are called heronries. 

These heronries are usually located in 
some dense swamp close to a large body of 
water or a chain of lakes. The nests are 
usually in the top of tall trees, like the cy- 
press or cedar, and frequently there will be 
several nests in a tree. Nearly all the crane 
family, to which the herons belong, seem to 
be social birds, enjoying their bird village or 
colony keenly. 

It is probable that my solitary pair of blue 
heron discovered the old mill-pond as they 
flew over on their spring migration north- 
ward, and, liking it, stayed permanently with 
us. This is the only way I can account for 
the stragglers that are occasionally found 
upon our New England lakes and rivers. 

Blueback, as I have intimated, was a frog- 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 57 

catcher, and also a fisherman of no mean 
order. If patience were the prime requisite 
to catch fish, and it is certainly one of the 
virtues of a fisherman, Blueback should have 
been the greatest fisherman in the world. 
But of course his manner of fishing was 
primitive. He had no rod, hook or line, so 
he used his long sharp beak and his long 
legs for all they were worth. He would 
wade out into the water to where it was 
about a foot and a half deep and there he 
would stand until a fish came his way. It 
might be ten minutes, and it might be half 
an hour ; still he would stand like a statue. 
Not a muscle moving, and with no thought 
of trying another position until he had thor- 
oughly tested the one he had. (This is a 
practice that every boy can imitate with 
profit.) His long neck would be drawn back 
so that his head rested between his shoulders. 
His bright eyes were always fixed upon the 
water, but as far as one could see he might 
have been asleep, so still he stood. 
At last his patience would be rewarded, and 



58 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

such patience as that always is. His head 
would shoot out like a flash and go a foot or 
perhaps a foot and a half under water and a 
second later he would bring up a chub or a 
perch, flopping and wriggling ; but the un- 
fortunate fish's troubles were soon over, for 
the frog-catcher always killed his catch as 
soon as it was taken. If it was a fish he 
speared it with his long sharp beak ; but if it 
was a frog he pounded it upon a rock until 
life had left it. 

I believe that this grave old heron was 
even more fond of frog-catching than he was 
of fishing, for I saw him at it more fre- 
quently. 

He would stalk his frogs among the lily 
pads along shore where the water was shal- 
low. He would go with the greatest of cau- 
tion, lifting his feet slowly, and setting them 
down carefully, without any sound or splash. 
When he espied Mr. Bullfrog sitting under 
a lily pad enjoying himself, he would become 
even more cautious. Foot by foot he would 
creep forward, and when the right position 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 59 

was reached his head would shoot out, as in 
the case of the fish, and the frog always came 
up kicking frantically. I do not think I ever 
saw the frog-catcher miss this game as he 
occasionally did a fish. 

There was a large flat stone on the pasture 
side of the pond and the frog-catcher usually 
hid his catches under the edge of this until 
he had gotten the desired number, when he 
would gather them together in his bill in a 
miraculous manner and fly away with them 
to the nest, back in the pine woods. I could 
not imagine how he could hold so many 
frogs at a time, but an old hunter told me 
that he laid them upon the ground, letting 
their legs lie crosswise, and then by biting 
down upon the legs where they crossed, his 
bill would act like a pair of tweezers. If 
this was the way it was done, it certainly 
was very clever. 

Two remarkable catches I saw the heron 
make, that I think must have astonished 
even so experienced a fishermen as he. 

One summer afternoon he had been stand- 



60 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

ing at the edge of a little clump of alders 
that grew almost in the water. He had as- 
sumed his accustomed attitude, standing 
erect with his head drawn back between his 
shoulders and his long index-bill pointing 
down towards the water. 

I remember that there were two things 
that impressed me as I watched him. How 
could he stand so still for so long a time ? 
A boy would have wanted to fidget, but 
Blueback stood like a statue. The second 
thing was that nature had given him a coat 
especially designed for fishing. For his blue 
back so well matched the water that one 
could hardly discern him. 

At last the head of the old fisherman shot 
out and down like lightning, but did not 
immediately come up as it usually did. The 
water was covered with ripples and the frog- 
catcher seemed to be straining and tugging 
away with might and main. Presently he 
put all his strength into one mighty effort, 
and a monster eel came to the surface, 
bringing with him a bunch of grass, lily 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 61 

pads, and other pond growth, as large as a 
half bushel. 

The great eel dropped the bunch of grass, 
as soon as he discovered that his hold upon 
the bottom of the pond had been broken, and 
gave his entire attention to battle. He 
thrashed the water and tried all the time to 
coil about the neck of the heron. 

Blueback seemed to appreciate fully that 
if the eel once wound about his neck that he 
would have serious difficulty in breathing, 
if he did not have to give it up altogether. 
So he buffeted his adversary with his great 
wings. Each time they fell there was a blue 
flash and a sound like beating a carpet. 

Again and again he struck the eel, until 
at last it hung limp and apparently lifeless, 
although he was probably only stunned. 

Finally the fierce old fisherman went 
ashore with his catch and laid it upon the 
ground, where he speared it several times 
with his bill. Then, concluding that he had 
got fish enough for that day, he flew away 
with it to the nest, the eel dangling as low 



62 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

down as the heron's long legs. The picture 
reminded me of another lively scene, when a 
red-tailed hawk, or buzzard, stooped to earth 
and picked up a five-foot black snake and 
flew away with it into the blue heavens. 

The old heron's second catch that aston- 
ished me, and perhaps him as well, was made 
one afternoon when he had been stalking 
frogs in the lily pads near shore. 

He had been stepping along gingerly, 
stopping here and there to investigate some 
bunch of pads or clump of pickerel weed, 
when he suddenly stopped and stood very 
still and seemed to be watching something 
intently. He would reach his head forward 
and look with the greatest curiosity at some- 
thing in the water. He seemed to be of two 
minds, but finally he took the initiative and 
shot his head under water, and then began 
hauling with might and main at something 
that was clearly beyond his strength. There 
were many bubbles upon the water, and a 
slight ripple, but the fish did not come to 
the surface. Again and again he sought to 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 63 

raise it, curving his long neck and straining 
away desperately. Finally a great black 
something, about the size and shape of a 
half bushel appeared on the surface of the 
water. It was an enormous turtle. How 
Mr. Turtle clawed the water, and how the 
old fisherman gripped his tail and tugged. 
This queer tug of war was so ludicrous that 
I laughed, and the spell was broken. The 
old fisherman let go his hold of the turtle's 
tail, and Mr. Turtle, nothing loath, sank to 
the bottom like a stone, while the frog- 
catcher soared away, over the pine woods 
where I was hiding, to his distant nest. 

Just what the outcome of this strange 
catch would have been had I not frightened 
the fisherman, it is hard to say. Certainly 
the heron could not have carried the turtle 
away, neither could he have killed him. 

He would doubtless have given up and let 
the poor turtle go, a wiser and sadder turtle, 
if not a tailless one. 

Once, and only once, we boys scaled the 
old pine, to see the nest, and that experi- 



64 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

ment quite satisfied the one who undertook 
it. 

Ned Hubbard and I were sitting under 
the pine, disputing about the number of 
young that the heron's nest probably con- 
tained. He thought five or perhaps six, but 
I thought three or four would be the limit. 
There was no way in which to settle the dis- 
pute satisfactorily without seeing the inside 
of the nest, so Ned agreed to go up. 

It was a monster first growth pine, three 
feet in diameter and running up to a great 
height. 

For the first thirty feet there were no 
limbs, but after that the top was quite 
bushy. The nest was up about sixty feet, 
in a dense whirl of limbs. 

Ned was obliged to adopt the Hottentot's 
manner of climbing large trees. This was 
to pass a piece of rope of sufficient length 
about the trunk of the tree, and hold each 
end in the hand. The rope circled the bowl 
of the tree on the side opposite the climber, 
and the boy's arms completed the circle. In 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 65 

order not to lose his hold on the rope, and 
fall, Ned made a slip-noose in either end, 
and passed his hand through the loop. In 
climbing, the boy scrambled up by means of 
his arms, legs, and the rope, with which he 
could grip the opposite side of the tree. 
When he had wriggled up as far as he could 
without moving the rope, he would suddenly 
loosen his grip upon the tree with the rope, 
and throw up both arms. This would throw 
the rope up a foot or two higher on the 
tree, where it was tightened by a skillful 
pull. The novice could not climb a tree in 
this manner, but the boy who has learned 
how can go up a large limbless tree like a 
cat. 

We did not think either of the old herons 
were at home, but soon discovered that the 
female was. We could tell her by her 
greater size. She soon summoned her mate, 
by rising high in air and circling about. I 
do not know whether this was a signal 
agreed upon by them, or whether her flight 
was agitated and easily understood by the 
5 



66 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

old fisherman down at the mill-pond, but it 
soon brought him. 

As both birds were sailing about the tree 
in a menacing manner, I called to Ned to 
desist, but he would see that nest, if it was 
a possible thing. He was not any more 
afraid of the herons than he would have 
been of a pair of crows. This was his boast, 
when he went up the tree, but he had quite 
changed his opinion when he came down. 

Up thirty or forty feet from the ground 
there was a long scar on the old tree, where 
the lightning had struck it, and here the 
limbs were not so thick. All went well with 
Ned until he reached this open place, where 
he was exposed to attack. 

Suddenly, without warning, the female 
bird swooped at him, coming down with great 
velocity. Ned had just presence of mind 
enough left to turn his face to the tree-trunk 
to protect his eyes and hold on for dear life. 
The first stroke of the infuriated heron's 
beak plowed a furrow in Ned's scalp two 
inches long, cutting clear to the bone. A 




NED HAD JUST PRESENCE OF MIND ENOUGH LEFT TO TURN HIS FACE 
TO THE TREE-TRUNK. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 67 

second later the other heron swooped and 
speared Ned in the side of the face, both 
strokes being intended for the eyes, but not 
reaching their mark. 

Ned gave a howl of pain and came down 
through the open spot, hand over hand, in 
the most reckless manner, not seeing much 
choice between falling forty feet or having 
his face picked to pieces by the angry heron. 

In fewer seconds than it takes to tell, he 
was safe among the closely entwining limbs, 
where the birds could not get at him. In 
fact they did not try to, after they saw him 
descending the tree, but contented themselves 
with hoarse angry croaks and agitated 
flights about the tree. There is no doubt 
that had either of us attempted to scale the 
tree again that we would have had our eyes 
picked out long before we reached the nest. 

I washed the blood from the two ugly 
gashes at a little spring near by, and then 
closed the cuts with balsam, which is a most 
soothing lotion. 

Then we wended our way homeward, 



68 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

wiser and sadder boys, but we had gained 
no knowledge on the question in dispute, 
namely, the number of young in the heron's 
nest. But an old woodsman settled it for us 
later on, by saying that the heron laid from 
three to five eggs, usually four, and that 
the young stayed in the nest until they were 
nearly grown, the old birds feeding them 
with frogs, fish, crustaceans, and sometimes 
even mice, when the fishing was not good. 

My last meeting with the grave old fisher- 
man, who always reminded me of a boy on 
stilts, or a daddy-long-legs, was so startling 
and unexpected, that thoughts of it made my 
blood tingle for many a day. 

It was early in September of as sweet an 
autumn day as ever made a boy's heart glad. 
The late blackberries were fairly weighting 
the bushes down along the edge of the woods. 
The fruit was dead ripe, and fell to the 
ground at a slight touch. 

I was tramping the glorious sweet-smell- 
ing autumn woods in company with an old 
hunter helping him hunt partridge. But 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 69 

my part was a rather secondary one, although 
I thought it most important. I carried the 
game bag and went upon the opposite side 
of the cover that we were working, so when 
the dog pointed, I could flush the birds and 
cause them to fly out on my companion's 
side. This is a practice that I should not 
advise any boy to try, even for the most ex- 
perienced and careful hunters, for it finally 
cost me my eyesight. 

Most of the bevies of young partridge had 
not yet separated, and we found them very 
plenty. 

It was not until towards evening when we 
were wending our way homeward with a 
heavy game-bag that my surprise came. We 
were coming down through the pine woods 
back of the old mill-pond and had nearly 
reached the water, when my companion sud- 
denly threw up his gun and without seeming 
to take aim, fired. I could not imagine 
what he had shot at, as the trees were quite 
thick overhead. While I was still wonder- 
dering what had drawn my companion's fire, 



70 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

there was a great flopping overhead, and he 
cried, "look out." I jumped one side, just in 
time to escape being hit by a winged monster 
that was falling through the boughs just 
above my head. Then with a hoarse croak, 
and a great flapping of wings, the old frog- 
catcher lay upon the ground before me, al- 
most at my feet. 

With the boy's impulse to seize upon every- 
thing strange, I reached out my hand to 
touch him, for he seemed harmless enough 
to my boyish understanding. 

" Look out, keep back," cried the old hunter, 
but the warning was too late, for the heron's 
head flashed out just as I had seen it so many 
times before, and the sharp'beak went nearly 
through the palm of my hand. 

I drew back to a safe distance and sucked 
my wound, but could not keep my eyes off 
the magnificent old fisherman, who was so 
much beyond my previous conception of 
him. I had seen him many times before, 
but had not dreamed what a mighty bird he 
was. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 71 

This is the way he looked as he lay there, 
his long slight legs thrust out straight be- 
hind, and his long wings stretched to their 
full sweep. 

His predominant color as he lay upon his 
breast, with his great wings spread, was an 
ashen blue, and I could think of nothing but 
a fragment of a cloud, that had been sun- 
dered from the blue of heaven, and laid upon 
the brown earth. His breast was white, 
edged with black, from which extended two 
long black feathers, the plumes of this van- 
quished knight. His underside was chestnut 
color, broadly striped with white. The long 
pearly gray plumes that I had noticed at- 
tached to the breast in the spring and early 
summer were gone now, but the tall fisher- 
man was sufficiently magnificent without 
them. 

The old hunter's pocket-rule declared that 
the great frog-catcher was fifty inches in 
length from the top of his yellow stout bill, 
to the end of his tail, and his blue ethereal 
pinions, that I had seen so often easily win- 



72 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

nowing the upper air, were nearly six feet 
in sweep. 

Altogether, he was one of the most mag- 
nificent fallen cloud-kings that I have ever 
seen. 

To-day he greets you gravely, at the door, as 
you enter the museum of one of our large col- 
leges in a distant city. He has lost none of his 
stature, and his eye is almost on a level with 
your own, but that which made him interest- 
ing is gone. He is no longer the frog-catcher, 
the fisherman, the epicurean who dines upon 
small crustaceans, and almost anything that 
would work into the menu of an uncooked 
shore dinner. He is no longer the tall strid- 
ing daddy-long-legs, the bird on stilts, or the 
fragment of a cloud descended to earth. He 
is now a splendid specimen of the great 
American Blue Heron, who still stands statu- 
esque, but never strikes. 



CHAPTER IV 

LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 

Little Musky was born about the first of 
February, in one of the conical shaped musk- 
rat houses upon the island in the great river. 
He had been one of a family of nine rats, for 
the muskrat always has a good large family. 
His parents lived in a three-story house, 
about six feet high, and six or seven feet in 
diameter. The muskrat houses had been 
built higher than usual the autumn before, 
for, by some wild instinct, the wary rats ex- 
pected unusual freshets in the spring ; and 
their prophecies usually came true. By ob- 
serving these sagacious little creatures, man 
can often get valuable hints as to the weather, 
for many months ahead. 

When the winter is to be long and cold, 
they build the rush and reed walls of their 
73 



74 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

houses thicker, both to keep out the cold and 
to serve them as provender. When there 
is to be high water in the spring, they 
build their houses high, so that they will not 
be drowned out when the freshet comes. 

The family of muskrats to which Musky 
belonged had been very cosy in their nicely 
constructed house, where they nestled close 
to their mother's warm fur, and were con- 
tent. It was several weeks before they were 
large enough to crawl about, but they grew 
much faster than other small creatures, so 
in two months they were exploring the house 
for themselves. 

Before the spring freshet came they were 
large enough to go outside, and run about in 
the tunnels that the old muskrats had made 
in the snow. These tunnels were very wind- 
ing, and led from point to point, where prov- 
ender had been stored. 

About the middle of April, there were 
several days of hard rain, and the ice in the 
river broke up, and the spring flood began. 

At first the three conical houses on the is- 



LITTLE HUSKY'S STORY 75 

land had seemed very secure, for they were on 
a high point, and several feet above water. 
But an ice-jam was formed in the river be- 
low, and the water rose rapidly. This was 
something that the rats had not expected, so, 
like the wisest of us, they were taken un- 
awares. Soon the water came into the lower 
story of their house, and they went to the 
second floor. Then that, too, became flooded, 
and they went to the third, and last. But 
the water still rose, and the fate of the poor 
muskrats looked dubious. The water was so 
deep about their house, that they could not 
escape by the water-passage, and reach a 
place of refuge before their breath and 
strength would be gone. Finally, the floor 
of their last refuge became wet, and they 
huddled up in one corner, frightened and 
miserable. 

Then a lucky accident delivered them from 
the trap in which they had been caught, for 
a log came rushing and tumbling about in 
the current, and stove in the top of their 
house, and their escape was made more easy. 



76 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

But where should they flee to, for on every 
side was water, water, water, and nothing 
but water. It was not placid and inviting, 
as they were used to see it, but turbulent and 
angry, and they feared it with an unknown 
fear. 

Soon a long, queer object began slowly 
moving across the meadows, towards the 
is land. Occasionally a bright flame would 
leap from this strange thing, and a thunder- 
ous noise would reverberate across the waters. 
The muskrats did not know what it all meant, 
but it doubled their fears, which were al- 
ready great. 

Soon the monster drew near the island and 
its three conical houses, and the old rats be- 
came alarmed. They were all out on the top 
of the house now, and could see the moving 
object quite plainly. Then the thunder-stick 
spoke again, louder and more terribly than 
it had before, and one of the old rats, and 
three of the children rolled, kicking and 
splashing, into the river, and the water about 
them was red with blood. Then a friendly 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 77 

plank came floating by, and the remaining 
old muskrat, and three of the youngsters 
swam and climbed upon it. Bang, bang, 
bang, went the thunder-stick again, and the 
old muskrat, and two of the children on the 
plank tumbled off, as the others had done 
from the top of their house ; and little Musky 
was left alone upon the plank, in a hostile 
and terrible world. But the water was more 
merciful than man, for the current bore him 
swiftly away, out of reach of the thunder- 
stick. 

On, on, the current swept the friendly 
plank, and this queer little mariner was 
borne far away from all familiar things ; 
and never again in his adventurous life did 
he see any of his own family. Sometimes 
the plank rushed through narrows with a 
speed that fairly took his breath away, and 
then it glided gently along, where the river 
was broad, and not so turbulent. Once it 
rushed into a whirlpool, and was sent spin- 
ning round and round. The poor rat became 
quite dizzy, and nearly lost his hold, but he 



78 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

knew intuitively that his only hope was in 
clinging tight, so he clung. 

Several times the plank shot under long 
bridges, where the swollen waters nearly 
washed the floor. At another point it shot 
over a great dam, with the speed of an 
arrow. 

Finally, after several hours, it was carried 
into back water, and lodged in some bushes, 
and Musky's travels ceased for a while, for 
which he was very glad, for it tired him, and 
made him so dizzy, that he could hardly tell 
water from land. 

Soon another plank came floating by, and 
lodged still nearer the shore, so he left the 
plank that had served him so well, and swam 
to the second one, and from that to an old 
log, until, at last, he was on land. Here his 
first care was to eat some last year's dead 
water grass, and stop the gnawing at his 
vitals. Then he crawled into a hole in the 
bank, and went to sleep. 

When he awoke, he was sore and stiff, but 
a run in the sand soon restored his good feel- 



LITTLE HUSKY'S STORY 79 

ings. There was plenty of good food, both 
in the wash along the shore, and in the reeds, 
and water grasses, so he fared very well, as 
far as food was concerned, bnt he was very 
lonely. He had always had a dozen or more 
young muskrats for playmates and compan- 
ions, and it seemed strange to be left all 
alone. He had no idea where the island in 
the great river could be found again, and 
soon gave up looking for it. 

The second day he made the acquaintance 
of a drowned-out skunk, which made it a little 
less lonesome. The skunk did not have very 
much to do with him, but it was nice just to 
have some one to look at, and to know that 
there were other living things, besides him- 
self, that the flood had pushed from their 
homes. 

After about a week, the water subsided, and 
the river went back to its old channel. The 
sun then came out warm for the time of year, 
and dried up the sand. The young muskrat 
found the sand a great delight, and was never 
tired of playing in it, but he soon learned 



80 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

that his element was the water. On land he 
was awkward, and did not know just how to 
make his legs go, but in the water they went 
all right. So he concluded that he was made 
for swimming, and kept much to the water. 

Two very serious mishaps befell him this 
first summer, which he might have avoided 
if he had been in the company of wiser heads, 
but he was alone in the world, and had to 
buy all his wisdom. 

One morning in midsummer, he was play- 
ing on the shore, after having made a fine 
breakfast on lily bulbs, when he noticed a 
shadow upon the ground beside him. It had 
not been there a second before, and he 
wondered what made it. The next second 
he found out in a way that astonished him, 
for there was a great flapping above him, 
and before he knew what was about to happen, 
a large fish-hawk had wrapped steely talons 
about him, and strong wings were bearing 
him away. 

With that instinct of self-preservation, 
that is strong in all wild creatures, and which 





A LARGE FISH-HAWK HAD WRAPPED STEELY TALONS ABOUT HIM. 



LITTLE HUSKY'S STORY gl 

tells them to do the right thing at the right 
time, the young rat drew himself up, and 
buried his teeth in the hawk's leg. 

The old osprey had caught many young 
muskrats before, none of them had ever 
bitten him, but he had taken this one up in 
the wrong manner. It was so sudden and 
unexpected, that for a second the hawk loosed 
his grip, and the poor rat dropped back into 
the river, with a thud, that nearly knocked 
the breath out of his body, and left him kick- 
ing and gasping on the surface of the water. 
The hawk could easily have taken him again, 
but the muskrat's teeth had sunk deep into 
his leg, and he concluded to go after a fish, 
instead. Fish did not act in that uncivil 
manner. 

So little Musky escaped this time, but he 
never forgot the lesson. After that, when- 
ever he saw the fish-hawk hovering above 
the river, he sought a safe shelter, and was 
very careful not to show himself until the 
osprey had gone. Musky's second adventure, 

and one from which he learned a valua- 
6 



82 THE LITTLE WATEU-FOLRS 

ble lesson, was with his worst enemy, the 
mink. 

One evening, when he was playing in the 
shallows of a little brook, which ran into the 
river, he saw a slim, sleek-looking animal, 
not much larger than himself, come gliding 
noiselessly down the brook. His movements 
were all stealthy, and his head was turned 
this way and that, inquiringly. His eyes 
were sharp and beady, and Musky did not 
like his looks, although he seemed small and 
harmless. 

Presently the stranger caught sight of the 
muskrat, and fixed his glittering eyes upon 
him. This made Musky feel uncomfortable, 
and, deciding to give the fierce little stranger 
all the room he wanted, he moved to the 
other side of the brook, but the mink followed, 
his eyes getting brighter and brighter. Then 
Musky concluded the stranger was not to his 
liking, and fled towards the river, where 
there was plenty of water, the mink following 
fast. Out and in among the lily pads they 
raced, the mink gaining on the rat, and 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 83 

Musky getting more and more frightened. 
What could this little Fury want of him ? 

When they reached the river, the mink 
was but a few feet behind, and he glided after 
the muskrat like a snake. In his great 
fright, the muskrat did the only thing that 
he could have done to save his life. He knew 
of no burrow in which to take refuge, so he 
swam for deep water, and dove to the bottom. 
His lungs were much stronger than those of 
the mink, so, by a series of dives, he soon 
winded his pursuer, and escaped, hiding in 
the lily pads until he was gone. 

After this thrilling chase, the muskrat 's 
life went on quite uneventfully, until the fall 
freeze. When the rivers and streams began 
to skim over with ice, each morning, and the 
grass along the bank was covered with hoar- 
frost, something told the muskrat, that snow 
and cold were coming. He knew by some 
rare instinct that he would not always be 
able to make his breakfast at the brookside, 
as he now did. 

So, with prudent forethought, he began 



84 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

"building a great mound of reeds, rushes, lily 
pads, moss, and other plants that grew in 
swampy places. 

Higher and higher he piled this heap of 
plant life, until it was five or six feet high, 
and nearly as far across at the base. The 
inside of this queer haycock he left hollow, 
and when it was finished he made two 
channels underground, from the inside of his 
house, to the brook. 

He made these channels quite long, so that 
his enemy the mink would have a hard time 
holding his breath if he should undertake to 
enter at his front door. 

This queer house that the muskrat had 
built was to serve two purposes. First, it was 
his place of refuge, and shelter, and, secondly, 
it was his food. Who ever heard of any one 
eating his house. Bat this was what the 
muskrat did, while the winter days went by. 



CHAPTER V 

THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 

The warm South wind is dancing a jig 
down the aisles of the forest. He has been 
so long exiled from his beloved fields arid 
woods of New England, that he is making 
up for all he has lost in the winter months 
that have passed. His boisterous cousin the 
North wind has had it all his own way too 
long. It is time he was taught his place, so 
the South wind is pushing him rapidly back 
towards the poles, and he is so glad that his 
hour has come again that he whistles a 
merry tune upon his pipe as he goes. 

How sweet the woods are now he has 
passed. He was fresh from a race through 
the orchard and had filled his wings with 
crab-apple scent and scattered it lavishly 
through the woods. The wild azalea too he 

has gently swayed in passing. He has 

85 



86 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

brought a whiff of arbutus and wild cherry 
and the pungent wholesome smell of balsam 
and pine needles quickened into fragrance 
by the warm May sunlight. 

What an important air the South wind has 
to-day, as he dances through the forest blow- 
ing lustily upon his flageolet. You would 
really think he owned the whole universe. 

What a thrill of life is stirring to-day in 
the half-grown leaves and the bursting buds, 
in the groping fronds and the germinating 
seeds. 

Now the South wind has passed, the forest 
is as still as though enchanted. Not a leaf 
rustles, not a breath is stirring. Hark, what 
is that ? A song in the top of a spruce, low- 
keyed and liquid. A wonderful love ditty, 
now it is repeated, softer and more exquisite- 
ly than before. What bird in all the forest 
sings like that ? It is not an oriole or thrush, 
but quite as sweet as either. Then a bough 
bends and a wonderful blue coat flashes in 
the sunlight and the most strident, querulous, 
rasping voice in the forest cries, " Jay, Jay, 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 87 

Say, Say, Didn't know I could sing like that, 
did you ? Well, I can, when I am a mind to, 
but I won't for you. Jay, Jay, Jay ! " 

He flashes out of the tree and across the 
fields and is gone. A veritable bluecoat, but 
altogether a noisy quarrelsome fellow, the 
spy of the woods, always squawking and 
calling when you want to listen and many 
times drowning the sweet songs of other 
birds with his hideous cries. A gay-gar- 
mented rogue, all show and bright feathers, 
but at heart a saucy shallow fellow. 

The song we heard this morning was the 
jay's spring love song. His one musical at- 
tempt, that only his mate on the nest with 
the warm eggs under her can inspire. You 
did not suspect him of such sentiment, neither 
did I until I heard him with my own ears. 

But there was one menace that May morn- 
ing to the feathered folks of the woods. It 
was a silent, stealthy, gliding danger that was 
always with them. No matter how fresh 
and green or inviting a grassy plot or a 
bunch of brakes might look, this stealthy, 



88 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

creeping danger might be coiled in the sweet 
green depths. 

There was a peculiar enmity between this 
subtle something and the jay family, for the 
jays were the spies of the woods. Many a 
bird's plumage had been saved by the strident 
squall of the jay. Whenever any of these 
gay-liveried saucy spies saw the black snake 
creeping upon its prey, or lying in ambush 
along some favorite path, or coiled in the 
trees, the jay would at once set up a great 
squalling and alarm the whole forest for a 
quarter of a mile about. Then birds and 
squirrels would be upon their guard, and per- 
haps the black evil would go hungry, thanks 
to the jay's vigilance. So there was a partic- 
ular hatred between the jay family and the 
black snake who made the swamp above the 
old mill-pond and some of the neighboring 
woods his headquarters. 

Down into the peaceful valley by the old 
mill-pond the black evil went creeping, his 
head raised about a foot from the ground. 
Whenever he stopped to consider the head 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 89 

swayed rhythmically from side to side, in that 
peculiar motion so common with snakes. 

But down in the valley there lived still 
another crawling, gliding marauder who was 
feared and hated by all the little water-folks 
in and about the pond. This danger usually 
lay coiled up in the lily pads, or on the bank 
near the water, always silent and always 
watchful. A danger that young muskrats 
and frogs were especially fearful of. 

The same morning that the black snake left 
his headquarters in the swamp and went on 
a journey, a huge dark water-snake crawled 
out on the bank and took a nap in the warm 
May sunshine. He was larger even than the 
black snake of the swamp, and this morning 
he felt quite contented with the world in 
general and his own lot in particular, for he 
had dined upon a half-grown muskrat. 

Up, up, from the swale the black snake 
came creeping, and the young grass wriggled 
at his coming, while the terror of the mill- 
pond slept upon the muddy bank. Finally 
the sleeping water-snake awoke, raised his 



90 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

head, and looked cautiously about. Some- 
thing was coming his way, there was a tremor 
in the grass and this meant a snake. Then a 
slim head, blacker even than his own, was 
lifted high above the grass and two eyes glit- 
tering and terrible, burning with hatred and 
glowing with malice, were riveted upon the 
water-snake. 

But what cared he, was he not the terror 
of the mill-pond ? Who was this stranger 
that dared to invade his kingdom, defy him, 
and even appear contemptuous of his sway ? 
So he made one or two extra coils in his long 
powerful form and glared back at his enemy, 
darting out his tongue with lightning rapid- 
ity and returning hate for hate with steady 
glowing eyes. 

The black snake lifted his head still higher 
above the grass and came on, circling about 
his rival and seeking to take him off his guard, 
but the water-snake always turned to meet 
him squarely, and neither got any advantage 
from their position. Seeing that this maneu- 
vering was futile, and being angered that 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDEl 91 

any one dared dispute the path with him, the 
black snake finally sprang his length, at his 
rival. Then there was a quick succession of 
lightning passes, so fast the ugly heads 
flashed, that the eye could hardly follow 
them . Their ugly forms writhed and twisted, 
squirmed and lashed the grass along shore. 
Over and over they went, until at last the 
fury from the swamp, who was quicker than 
his antagonist, got the hold he wanted and 
then something happened. 

The black snake had caught his rival with 
a firm grip two thirds of the way toward his 
tail. Then with a lightning motion the black 
snake wound his own tail about a small elm 
that stood upon the bank. With a convulsive 
contortion he raised his own ugly form in air, 
and with it, that of the water-snake. Like a 
long black rope the double length of snake 
rose and fell, beating the earth, but the third 
time the black rope made a graceful half- 
circle, then shot forward with a lightning 
motion. With a report like the crack of a 
whip the head of the water-snake rolled into 



92 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

the pond, while his body writhed and twisted 
in the grass. 

Then the black snake unwound his coil from 
the water elm and watched the dying contor- 
tions of his enemy. 

When the wriggling of the water-snake had 
ceased and it was apparent that he was quite 
dead, his enemy gloated above him and 
swelled with pride over his great victory. 
Then he swam the pond and went into the 
woods beyond in search of more foes to con- 
quer. 

It happened this same morning that a 
partly fledged jay had fallen from the nest. 
He was not ready to fly and his parents were 
in a great dilemma. The old snake heard 
their cries afar off and knew quite well that 
some one was in trouble. Trouble for the 
birds at nesting time usually meant plunder 
for him, so he hastened in the direction from 
which thesquawling and cries of distress 
came. 

So swiftly and silently the black destroyer 
came that the first knowledge of his presence 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE. 93 

that the jay family had was when his ugly 
head shot like lightning through the ferns 
and grasses and his terrible jaws closed upon 
the fledgling. 

The poor victim squawked once or twice, 
fluttered feebly and was still, the life had 
been crushed out of it by the destroyer. 

Both of the jay parents darted viciously at 
the snake but he paid little attention to them, 
and began leisurely swallowing his prize. 

Then the male jay rose in the air, high 
above the tree-tops and flew rapidly away, 
calling at the top of his strident voice as he 
flew. 

" Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay." 

Another jay in a distant tree-top took up 
the cry and flung it far on into the woods. 
Soon another was heard calling and still an- 
other and another. The call was answered 
from across the mill-pond and from far and 
near the blue-coated rogues came flying, 
calling as they came, " Jay, jay, pay, pay, 
flay, flay." 

The outraged father led them hurriedly 



94 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

back to the spot where the deed had been 
committed and where the grieving mother 
still watched the greedy snake swallowing 
her fledgling. One would not have imagined 
there were as many jays within ten miles as 
soon flocked above the snake, all squawling 
with rage and fear. Each moment the cries 
grew louder and soon the birds began dart- 
ing viciously at the snake. There was some- 
thing ominous in this cry of fury that steadily 
grew in volume and intensity. The black 
destroyer had frequently killed young jays 
and the offense had gone unpunished, but now 
something very much like fear came over 
him, and he slunk away into the grass, feel- 
ing actually afraid for the first time in his 
life. 

As long as he faced them and struck at 
them whenever they came too near, he had 
been comparatively safe, but now he had 
turned tail and was fleeing, it was different. 

At the moment he showed the white 
feather, the whole angry horde fell upon him 
like furies. A half dozen darted down at 




THE WHOLE ANGRY HORDE FELL UPON HIM LIKE FURIES. 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 95 

once, picking at as many places in his wrig- 
gling black coils. He turned and struck and 
his motions were so quick that the eye could 
hardly follow him. Two wounded jays flut- 
tered down into the underbrush but what 
cared the rest. The horde was aroused and 
nothing but blood would atone for the murder 
that the snake had done. 

The black fury could not strike in a dozen 
places at once and some of them were sure 
to wound him. Soon his skin had been 
broken in many places and he was covered 
with blood, but none of his great strength 
was gone. A half dozen beaks tore at his 
tail and he turned writhing with pain to 
strike at these tormentors. At the same in- 
stant a jay struck him fairly in the right eye 
and that organ lay out on his cheek and was 
useless. This was the beginning of the end, 
but his end was terrible, as was his desert. 
Never punishment fell from heaven upon the 
guilty more swiftly or surely. In a few 
seconds more his other eye was gone, and he 
could only strike blindly and thrash and 



96 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

writhe in convulsions of pain. Slowly and 
relentlessly they picked and tore at the writh- 
ing mass. In five minutes after the battle 
began, the snake's skin was stripped to rib- 
bons, his entrails dragged upon the ground 
and he was so torn and pecked that his own 
mate would not have known him. Thus 
was justice meted out, and the black de- 
stroyer went the way that he had sent so 
many helpless fledglings. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 

The Little Fisherman and I were rivals 
upon the same stream and that is how I be- 
came so well acquainted with his manners, 
morals and habits of life. 

Although he was an expert fisherman, it 
would hardly be fair to call him an angler, 
for he did not angle but merely fished. So 
while I sought by cunning baits to catch my 
fish, he took his whenever they came in sight, 
like the bold fisherman he is. 

The first time I saw him was a bright 

April morning when I was threading my 

favorite trout stream. It was the first day 

of the open season for men, but the little 

fisherman fishes in season and out, and the 

warden always condones his offense. 

Just above my favorite trout hole a grace- 
7 97 



98 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

ful water elm spreads its broad branches far 
over the stream and my rival was perched 
upon one of its overhanging branches, which 
was dead and quite free from twigs. This 
gave him an unobstructed view of the water 
He was standing like a statue, with his head 
bent forward watching the water intently. 
He was so intent on his game that he did not 
see me, so I had a good view of him at our 
first meeting. 

He was a plump chunky fellow, with a 
blue coat and white markings underside, and 
his head was adorned with a bright bristling 
crest of blue feathers, which gave him quite 
a jaunty appearance. His legs were short, 
and when he plunged into the stream a few 
seconds after I discovered him, I saw that his 
wings were also short for his size. His first 
attempt was a failure and he came up, dash- 
ing sprays of bright brook water in every 
direction, but he had the true fisherman's 
patience, for he went back to exactly the 
same spot and fell to watching the water as 
before. He did not have long to wait, for 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 99 

in a minute or two he dove again and this 
time he brought up a minnow about three 
inches in length, which he swallowed so 
quickly that I did not know where it had 
gone until he caught another. 

Just after he caught the second minnow 
and again took his place on the dead limb, 
he saw me and at once set up such a chat- 
tering, sputtering and rattling, that I knew 
he considered me a trespasser while in his 
own mind he was the owner and proprietor 
of the stream. 

I was not frightened away by his clamor, 
neither was he very much afraid of me, for 
he kept his perch and continued to scold 
until I was within forty or fifty feet of him. 
Then he flew away up stream scolding louder 
and more raspingly, if possible, than before. 
He was angry and there was no disguising 
the fact, for he darted viciously at the water 
as he flew and his whole manner indicated 
that he was much put out. 

I always spent considerable time at the 
deep hole under the old water-elm, for it was 

LOFC. 



100 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

usually good for two or three nice trout if 
one worked it carefully. 

So when the little fisherman came flying 
back after about half an hour he found me 
still on his favorite preserve. There was 
nothing to do except scold, which he did with 
a vim. But he soon flew away, and I did 
not see him again that day. 

It was nearly two weeks after my first 
meeting with the little fisherman, that I saw 
his mate. As I had fished the stream that 
they inhabited thoroughly for three miles 
of its length, I am confident that Mrs. King- 
fisher had just arrived. She evidently had 
lingered behind, to enjoy sunnier skies, while 
her lord went ahead to spy out the country 
and stake out their claim. 

How she managed to find the spot that 
he had chosen among so many streams and 
rivers I do not know. This was their first 
year upon my trout brook, so there must 
have been some prearrangement. I do not 
imagine that this particular Kingfisher just 
happened along and fell in love with Mr. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 101 

Kingfisher on the spot, but rather that their 
courtship had ripened before they came to 
my neighborhood. 

Mrs. Kingfisher was marked very much 
like her mate with one striking exception. 
Both had the blue and white livery and the 
bristling topknot, but Mrs. Kingfisher had in 
addition a broad dull red belt or girdle that 
gave her a somewhat gay appearance. This 
is contrary to the general styles prevailing 
in bird-land, where the males usually wear 
the bright feathers and the females the more 
modest dresses. 

Very soon after the appearance of the 
second Kingfisher, both set to work upon 
their dwelling. If you are not acquainted 
with the habits of this most interesting bird 
you never could guess how the new home 
was made. 

It was by a mere accident that I discovered 
the nest. I was sitting upon a sand-bank a 
few rods above where the stream entered the 
mill-pond, when I noticed a small pile of 
dirt on the bank near me. It did not look 



102 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

like the work of the creatures whose bur- 
rows I knew, so I laid down my pole and 
examined it carefully. 

The hole extended directly back into the 
sand-bank for about four feet, where it ab- 
ruptly ended. This was a queer burrow and 
whose work it was I could not imagine. 

There were footprints upon the loose sand 
that were certainly made by a bird, but I 
did not at first associate them with the hole. 
Finally I gave it up and went on fishing, 
following the stream down to the pond. 

Here I discovered the Kingfishers very 
much engrossed with taking minnows, which 
were quite plenty in the shallows along the 
edge of the pond. When they discovered me 
they set up a great clatter and chatter as 
usual, but finally flew up stream and alighted 
upon the sand-bank ; or rather disappeared 
in it. I watched and waited for some time 
to see what had become of them and finally 
my patience was rewarded by seeing a shower 
of sand thrown from the queer burrow I had 
discovered. The Kingfishers had entered the 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 103 

hole and were carrying on some sort of ex- 
cavations, the object of which I did not at 
once discover. But now I knew whose work 
the hole in the sand-bank was, it was merely 
a matter of patience to discover the whole 
truth. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kingfisher had retained the 
habits of their snake ancestors and were 
making a hole in the ground for their 
dwelling-place. 

Day by day the pile of sand on the bank 
increased and the burrow was made longer. 
After it had gone straight back for about 
five feet it took a sharp bend, and went about 
three feet further. Then concluding that 
this was a safe distance underground, the 
birds hollowed out a chamber, perhaps a foot 
in diameter, and the home of the fisherman 
was ready for his mate. Mrs. Kingfisher took 
possession and soon shaped the floor of the 
chamber according to her own ideas of a 
nest. It was ultimately lined with fish 
bones, which was the only kind of a lining 
that would have suited its occupants. 



104 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

As soon as she had laid her eggs, Mrs. 
Kingfisher excluded her mate from the nest 
and began her long and monotonous task of 
hatching the eggs. 

At this point in the housekeeping of Mr. 
and Mrs. Kingfisher my boyish curiosity got 
the better of me and I could not longer re- 
sist the temptation to know what was going 
on at the end of this queer burrow, so I in- 
vaded the home of the fisher-folks to find 
out. This was a very unwise thing to do, as 
it might have broken up the nest, and I 
should not advise any boy to do likewise ; but 
in this case the life within went on as though 
nothing had happened. I do not think that 
any other mother bird would have been as 
unwilling to leave her eggs, and as fearless 
of intrusion as was Mrs. Kingfisher. 

I first thrust a withe into the hole until it 
would go no farther. This gave me the di- 
rection of the hole and its length to the bend. 
Then laying the pole upon the ground out- 
side, I was able to dig down for a foot and a 
half and strike the tunnel just at the bend. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 105 

Here I again introduced the stick and got 
the direction of the remaining three feet of 
the burrow, so I could dig straight down 
upon the nest. 

A fox burrow can be explored in this man- 
ner and it will save a great deal of digging. 
This burrow will sometimes be forty or fifty 
feet long with many twists and turns, but 
by introducing a pole the nest at the end of 
the tunnel can be discovered merely by dig- 
ging three or four wells to the depth of the 
burrow. 

I uncovered the nest of the Kingfishers 
with the greatest care and discovered seven 
white eggs, but neither Kingfisher happened 
to be at home. After examining it carefully, 
I replaced most of the dirt, but by inserting 
a board, the nest was left so that it could be 
examined any time with little trouble. This 
arrangement afterwards averted a tragedy 
in the Kingfisher family, so I justified my 
meddlesome act from this incident* 

The second time that I visited the nest 
Mrs. Kingfisher was on the eggs. Although 



106 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

she scolded and bristled when I lifted the 
board and let in a ray of light she made no 
attempt to leave the nest. I was lying upon 
my stomach peering into the hole when the 
long snakelike head of a weasel was thrust 
into the chamber containing the nest. This 
thirsty bloodsucker had evidently entered the 
burrow before my coming and had just dis- 
covered the sitting Kingfisher. I could see 
his nostrils dilate and his cruel hungry eyes 
glow at the sight of the prize so near at 
hand. He moved his head to this side and 
that, and then sprang upon the Kingfisher's 
back. I still held the board that had covered 
the nest in my hand and reaching down 
knocked him against the side of the nest 
where I had just room enough to grind the 
life out of him with my board. 

There is scarcely a living thing that I care 
to kill, but the weasel is one of the exceptions 
to this rule, and it was with considerable 
satisfaction that I picked up the dead body of 
the weasel from the nest that it would have 
destroyed, merely for a few drops of blood. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 107 

The proprietor of the strange nest probably 
began sitting about the first of June and the 
young were hatched a little after the middle 
of the month. 

They were as strange a lot of fledglings as 
ever made a nest ugly, with short legs, large 
heads, and not even a sign of fuzz on their 
bodies. Their mother, who is short-legged 
and short- winged herself, could not brood 
them as readily as a bird mother usually 
does, so they huddled together for warmth 
and she hovered over them keeping them 
warm as best she could. 

All the time that his wife had been incu- 
bating the eggs Mr. Kingfisher had been 
catching fish for her, or occasionally he would 
take his turn for a few minutes on the eggs 
while she went for an airing. 

After the young birds were hatched Mr. 
Kingfisher redoubled his efforts in fishing, 
for he now had eight hungry mouths to feed. 
So whenever he caught a minnow, instead of 
swallowing it at a single gulp, he would fly 
away, with the fish flopping in his beak, and 



108 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

deposit it before his numerous family. If it 
was intended for one of the young birds, 
either he or the mother bird would predigest 
the fish before giving it to them. This was 
done by first swallowing the fish and then 
when it had become soft and suitable for the 
crops of the young Kingfishers, it was gulped 
up and fed to them. 

I am afraid that Mr, Kingfisher occasion- 
ally went hungry himself during these ardu- 
ous days of feeding his family. But it is 
certain that he did nothing but fish all day 
long. 

It must have been a great relief to him 
when his noisy family was at last driven forth 
from their underground nest and taught the 
art of fishing, which they learned much faster 
than one would have imagined. But they 
were a family of fishermen and the instinct 
of swooping for fish was born in them. In 
the case of this particular family the in- 
stinct was supplemented by several lessons 
in fish-catching. I do not say that the 
young birds would not have learned of them- 




HERE THEY SAT NODDING AND BLINKING. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 1Q9 

selves, but they were certainly helped by the 
example of their elders. 

I was lucky enough to see the family the 
first day that they came into the bright 
world, which must have been very strange 
to them, after the life underground. There 
was not the usual fuss of young birds in 
learning to fly and although their wings are 
short, after seeing the old birds flying about 
calling persistently to them, the young birds 
tried their own wings, Three flopped up be- 
side their father on the old maple stump 
where I had so often seen him perched, 
watching intently for fish. Here they sat 
nodding and blinking and probably wonder- 
ing what kind of a game it was going to 
be. 

Then Mr. Kingfisher dove into the water 
and brought up a minnow and dangled it 
tantalizingly before them. He did not give 
it to them at once but preferred to arouse 
their eagerness for fish and fishing. 

When he had plunged into the water 
several times and always brought up a min- 



HO THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

now, one of the young birds a bit more 
courageous than his brothers and sisters 
thought he, too, saw great wealth in the 
waters below merely to be had for the taking. 
So he struck the stream with a great splash, 
but soon came up, beating the water into 
spray and without any fish for his pains. He 
was not able to fly back to the old stump, 
but had to content himself with perching on 
a low bush along shore, where four of his 
brothers and sisters were. 

If the young Kingfisher saw his fish at all, 
he probably struck too high to get it, for a 
fish always looks much nearer to the surface 
of the water than he really is. Every boy 
who has used a fish-rod, knows how the butt 
of his pole will seem to bend just beneath the 
surface of the water, when he thrusts it into 
the stream. This is due to light refraction. 
Of course the young Kingfishers, or their 
parents, know nothing of light refraction, 
but every Kingfisher knows that he must 
strike deep if he would get his fish. 

Seeing that his brother was not injured by 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN \\\ 

his plunge, another young Kingfisher soon 
followed his example. He too came up flap- 
ping the water in every direction and mak- 
ing a great fuss about the ducking that he 
got. But after the fact had been made plain 
that fish came from the stream and that 
they could be gotten in some way, if one only 
knew just how it was done, Mr. and Mrs. 
Kingfisher caught no more fish for the young 
birds, for they knew that hunger would be 
the greatest incentive to the young King- 
fishers and that it would drive them to make 
efforts to catch fish for themselves, that they 
would not make for mere sport. So com- 
bining necessity and fun, and encouraging 
them by their own example, the old King- 
fishers had two or three of the bolder of their 
brood fishing for themselves the first morn- 
ing. Once they had the trick learned they 
were all eagerness to fish, and wanted to do 
nothing else for the better part of the day. 
It, of course, took weeks and months for 
them to become the expert fishermen that 
their parents were, but when they under- 



112 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

stood that they could get a fish, even once in 
half a dozen plunges, they were eager to try. 
Perhaps there was a sort of excitement about 
it too, just as there is about the fishing that 
the boy does. But certainly there was great 
rivalry among them in practising this most 
interesting art. 

When this enterprising family, that fished 
without hook or line, net or snare, was fully 
grown, it was a gay and noisy assembly. 
There were certain favorite trees that over- 
hung the stream where they could almost 
always be found fishing. These perches 
were especially adapted to their wants, as 
they afforded a position not too high up from 
the water, and one that was free from twigs 
and leaves. Such trees were usually dead, or 
dying. Sometimes they would perch two or 
three in a bunch, while I have occasionally 
seen the entire seven upon the same limb, all 
intently watching the stream beneath. At 
such times as this the rivalry ran high, and 
it was perilous for a minnow to venture into 
that portion of the pool. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN H3 

It was not until the flight woodcock were 
passing and anchor ice had formed along 
shore, and hoar-frost hung heavy on the 
water-grasses and flag, that I saw the last 
of the Kingfishers. I do not know whether 
they went singly, or in twos or threes, or as 
a family party, but certainly the stream was 
not as interesting as it had been, when this 
noisy clattering chattering family of little 
fishermen were gone. 



8 



CHAPTER VII 

THE WATER WEASEL 

The weasel of the waters was really not a 
weasel at all but a very sleek mink. But his 
disposition and habits of life so closely re- 
sembled those of the weasel that I have 
given him that name. 

The particular member of the family with 
whom we are concerned, usually haunted a 
little willow-fringed brook that I have known 
and loved since childhood. No one could 
know this sweet little brook and not love it. 
It was the sunniest, happiest little stream 
you ever saw, always laughing and singing 
through the bright day, and gurgling a 
drowsy lullaby through the starry night. 

This terror of the brookside, who was 

feared and hated by all the small creatures 

along the water-course, was really very small 

for so formidable a creature. He did not 

measure twenty-two inches, tail and all, and 
114 




w 




HE WOULD SUDDENLY APPEAR BEHIND AN OLD LOG. 



THE WATER-WEASEL H5 

when his sleek coat was off he looked much 
smaller. His body was round and lithe, 
slightly arched at the shoulders. His head 
was small, his ears set closely in his fur, and 
his eyes were bright and beady. 

His movements were swift, and darting. 
He flashed from point to point along the 
brook, just as a weasel moves on the wall. His 
head would suddenly appear from behind a 
stone, and his bright restless eyes would view 
you for a second, then he would be gone. 
Then, would suddenly appear, this time ten or 
fifteen feet further along behind an old log. 
You never knew just how or when he moved. 
The first you knew he was watching you from 
a new position. 

Once I saw the Mink and his mate moving 
their family to a new home. They were 
carrying the babies in their mouths, by the 
scruff of the neck, just as a ?at carries kit- 
tens. They moved them several rods down 
stream to a hole in the bank, under the roots 
of an overhanging tree. The high water 
had made their old home untenable, so they 



116 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

had moved out, and rented a new tenement. 
I think the hole belonged to some of the mole 
family before the minks came, but they 
probably dispossessed the former occupants 
and took possession without as much as say- 
ing " by your leave." 

When the family of the terror were half 
grown they were as playful as kittens and 
would chase one another about with as much 
zest as young squirrels. 

The mud along the bank, near the bright 
water of my little trout stream, was always 
dotted with their footprints. So I knew 
quite well of their pranks, even when I did 
not see them. 

One bright morning the water- weasel 
started on one of his restless wanderings. 
He did not know or care where he went, only 
that he was on the move. 

He glided along the stream as silently as a 
shadow. A very dark shadow he seemed, 
and his coming was indeed a shadow for many 
creeping, crawling things that lay in his 
course. Occasionally he would stop, with 



THE WATER-WEASEL H7 

his slight paw raised, looking this way and 
that. Eager, and restless, furtive and watch- 
ful. Then he would glide on like a swift- 
moving black speck. Near a bunch of lily- 
pads he stopped and peered this way and that, 
searching under all the pads with his beady 
eyes. 

You or I would not have seen anything 
animate among the green pads, but Mr. 
Mink did. Suddenly he darted forward. 
There was a short scuffle in the water. A 
violent flopping and splashing and then this 
sleek scamp dragged a great green bullfrog, 
kicking and croaking, to the bank. The poor 
frog is kicking for dear life, and his eyes are 
bulging out with fright ; but his relentless 
enemy has him by the throat, and there is no 
shaking that grip. The teeth sink deeper 
and deeper. The frog kicks and flops, gasps 
and kicks feebly, and is dead. 

Does Mr. Mink eat him ? no, he may 
bite a hole in his throat, but he will soon 
leave him and look for another victim. His 
particular sport is in taking the quarry. 



118 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

Occasionally he catches a tadpole, or opens 
a small clam, but best of all he loves to tor- 
ment frogs. Fish are also to his liking and 
he occasionally surprises a sleepy sucker, but 
he is rather too small to be a good fisherman, 
besides he cannot hold his breath very long 
under the water. He is much smaller than 
the muskrat, but the rat will flee for his life, 
when he sees the glittering eyes of the mink. 
The hunted rat's refuge then, is in keeping 
in deep water, for his lungs are much 
stronger than those of the terror. 

Knowing this fact, when the rat builds his 
house, he makes a long winding tunnel lead- 
ing to it under water. His particular strate- 
gem is to make the water tunnel so long that 
the mink will drown while coming through 
it. If the muskrat has to do battle with his 
bloodthirsty enemy he always meets him if 
possible in the water tunnel, where the mink 
loses his breath and is obliged to go to the 
surface to breathe, to the great relief of the 
muskrat. Occasionally, though, he can swim 
the whole length of the water channel, into 



THE WATER-WEASEL H9 

the muskrat's house, then he does bloody- 
work. 

One morning early in November the water- 
weasel went upon the last of his bloody ex- 
cursions along the little stream, and the in- 
habitants of the water-course, were glad that 
they saw him no more, with the possible ex- 
ception of the mink family, who probably 
missed him from their circle. The morning 
was clear and crisp, and Mr. Mink felt pecul- 
iarly eager for his sport. He had been very 
peaceable for several days, but now he would 
make up for it. Many of the frogs had 
crept under the mould, where they were 
stupidly sleeping. The small water-snakes 
too were asleep, but he would find some- 
thing, somewhere to sate his love of blood. 
But this morning the hunter was hunted, 
for he found a dead mouse hanging over a 
shallow in the brook, and in reaching for it, 
he set his forefoot in a trap. 

He had always been so swift and sure in 
flight, that it infuriated him to be held in 
this manner. He bit at the ugly thing, until 



120 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

his teeth bled. But it still held, and from 
being a terror, this dark-coated hunter, be- 
came a demon as wild and furious as his 
size and strength would allow. He broke 
his front teeth on the trap and fell to tearing 
his own glossy coat. He bit at everything 
in reach. Foam and blood were on his 
muzzle. Then he remembered his last 
weapon of defense, that he rarely used unless 
cornered, and emitted an odor that is only 
surpassed for pungency by that of the skunk. 
But the trap had no nostrils and held on as 
before. 

For half the forenoon the infuriated mink 
bit and tore, first at the trap, and then at 
himself, but his fate did not change. The 
frog would have smiled to see him in this 
plight if he had known. 

When the little terror had exhausted his 
strength with wrenching, and his sleek coat 
had been sadly lacerated by his own teeth, a 
tall creature, walking erect, came stalking 
along the stream. In one hand he carried 
an empty trap, and in the other a light club. 



THE WATER-WEASEL 121 

He laughed when he saw the mink, for he 
knew that his small pelt, that would scarcely 
cover both a man's palms, was worth four 
dollars of the fur-trader's good money. Then 
he raised his club, which descended swiftly, 
and the song of the little brook was stilled in 
the Terror's ears, and he swooned away into 
breathless darkness, and was nothing but a 
sleek pelt. 



CHAPTEK VIII 

THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 

How often since that memorable day when 
I reluctantly turned my back upon the old 
district schoolhouse and went away to the 
city, have I longed for the freedom and the 
sweet philosophy of the boy with a dinner- 
pail. His was a joyous lot and his life was 
as free as the winds that blow. 

In those rich days I owned the world, 
the birds, the squirrels, the fields and all 
that they contained. 

Nor was I content with owning merely the 
world, for was not the great free blue sky 
mine with its treasures of stars, some of 
which still glimmered when I drove the cows 
to pasture in the dewy fragrant morning. 

Half-way down to the old schoolhouse the 
boy with a dinner-pail sometimes left the 
traveled road for a shorter way. This was 
an old discontinued road so grown with 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 123 

brush, that one would never have guessed 
that it had been a road at all, had it not been 
for a half tumbled down stone wall on either 
side. Beside these walls grew raspberry and 
blackberry bushes, and many a good meal 
they furnished the famished boy on his way 
home from school. Also an occasional scrub 
apple tree bore delicious fruit, but some of 
these wild apples were as sour as vinegar. 

One memorable morning, early in May the 
boy turned into the old disused road as usual 
and was trotting along whistling a merry 
tune, when from the marsh near-by came a 
strange and ominous sound. It was a deep 
three syllable booming, that rolled across the 
lowlands and was lost in the distance. 

The boy sprang upon the wall, curious and 
half fearful. It had sounded as loud as the 
bellowing of a bull and even more resound- 
ing, but he did not think it was a bull. Pres- 
ently he heard it again and this time he was 
quite certain it was not an animal. 

But no sight or sound with which he was 
not familiar went unchallenged, so he set his 



124 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

dinner-pail down beside the wall and crept 
cautiously forward, always keeping some 
bush or knoll between him and the spot from 
which the sound had come. 

When he had gone a dozen rods into the 
marsh the strange booming was heard 
again, this time much plainer. Now the boy 
was almost afraid to go forward. He had 
never heard of any creature that could make 
such a sound as this. Perhaps he ought to 
go back, but a strange fascination impelled 
him to go forward. 

He now proceeded with still greater caution 
going on his belly and stopping every few 
seconds to listen. So carefully this young 
woodsman stalked the strange creature that 
presently the deep booming, sounded again, 
now only three or four rods away. 

It could not be a bull, for the marsh was 
not wooded, and he could see in every direc- 
tion. So he lay still in the grass and listened. 
But the marsh was as quiet as though noth- 
ing inhabited it. 

How strange it seemed. Perhaps it was a 




A GREAT CLUMSY BIRD FLOPPED SLOWLY AWAY. 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 125 

hobgoblin, that would swallow him up. He 
did not like strange noises that could not be 
explained. As the silence deepened, a wild 
terror seized the boy. Somebody or some- 
thing must move or cry out. He could 
stand it no longer, so with a yell like a wild 
Indian he sprang to his feet and swung his 
hat about his head. 

But no fourfooted creature appeared. In- 
stead, a great clumsy winged bird, tall and 
awkward, rose in air with a startled cry, and 
flopped slowly away. 

The boy had a fleeting vision of long dan- 
gling yellow legs, and a large body, of brown 
and buff with light markings. 

He had never seen such a bird as this 
before, but the mystery of the booming noise 
still troubled him. It surely could not be 
made by a bird, but try as he would he could 
not dispel the idea that the great awkward 
stranger had been in some way connected 
with the awful sounds. Mere words could 
never express the boy's astonishment and dis- 
gust on returning to his dinner-pail, to find 



126 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

it bottom side up and a yearling heifer 
munching complacently at the last mouth- 
ful of a saucer pie that had been baked ex- 
pressly for him. 

Nearly every morning after that the boy 
heard the queer booming sound in the marsh, 
and each time crept cautiously toward it, 
only to flush the strange bird ; but he never 
saw him make the sound, although he was 
quite sure now that the bird made it, as 
there was no other living thing on the marsh 
capable of doing it. 

One morning, while stalking the bird from 
a new direction, he discovered the nest, upon 
which the female was sitting. She was not 
like most birds that the boy knew, for she 
did not fly away with a great show of fear, 
when he approached her, but stuck persistent- 
ly to the nest, even pecking at the intruder. 
Finally, when the boy swung his hat to scare 
her, she ran away into the grass, disclosing 
her treasures to his inquisitive eyes. It was 
the poorest kind of a nest, merely a few 
bunches of coarse grass scratched together 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 127 

in a clumsy manner, with no attempt at 
lining. 

The eggs were large and of a brownish 
drab, and five in number. It was something 
to have found the nest of the " great boomer," 
as the boy called the strange bird, and he now 
felt quite well repaid for his persistence. 

When the eggs finally hatched, and it 
always seems like a long time to the boy who 
is watching, the young birds were all legs 
and heads, and altogether the ugliest fledg- 
lings that he had ever seen. He was never 
quite sure just what the old birds fed the 
little ones, although he found the fragments 
of a frog about the nest one morning. 
Probably grasshoppers, grubs, and small 
crustaceans also found their way to the 
young bittern's bills. These awkward, help- 
less fledglings stayed in the nest six or eight 
weeks. The boy did not know just when 
they went, but at the end of eight weeks 
they were gone, and he occasionally flushed 
them in the marsh, or along a little stream 
that flowed near by. 



128 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

He never expected to have as good a look 
at the " great boomer" as he finally did, 
but it came about in this way. One morn- 
ing near the close of the school year, as he 
was crossing the marsh, he heard the roar of 
a shotgun near at hand, and went to see who 
was out gunning and what the game was. 

He soon met Eb Thompson, an old hunter 
and woodsman, coming across the marsh. 
In his hand he was carrying a large bird, and 
the boy saw at once that it was the " great 
boomer." 

" Hello, Eb, what have you got," cried the 
boy excitedly. 

"An American Bittern, and a big one," 
replied the hunter composedly. " I got him 
out here by Willow Brook, and he is a beauty. 
I guess it is the male." 

The hunter laid the bittern down on the 
grass and spread him out to his full length. 
Then, taking a tape measure from his pocket, 
he stretched it from the bird's beak to the tip 
of his tail. It measured twenty-eight inches, 
which is a large bittern. 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 129 

His upper side was brownish buff, thickly 
spotted or freckled with reddish brown and 
black. His neck was buff, and there was 
a white line down the throat. There was a 
patch of gray on the sides of the neck. His 
whole underside was pale buff striped with 
brown. His bill was yellow, and his long 
legs were yellowish green. Altogether he 
was a gorgeous fellow. 

It is no wonder that the boy had been al- 
most afraid of the strange cries on the marsh, 
when we recall this thrilling description 
of the sound, as described by Oliver Gold- 
smith. 

" It is impossible for words to give those 
who have not heard this evening call, an 
adequate idea of its solemnity. It is like the 
interrupted bellowing of a bull, but hollower 
and loader and is heard at a mile's distance, 
as if issuing from some formidable being that 
resided at the bottom of the waters." Other 
sounds there were upon the lonely marsh, 
besides the booming of the great bittern, that 
fascinated the boy with the dinner-pail. Most 
9 



130 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

of these sounds were heard in the early spring, 
and it is then that nearly all creatures are 
mating, and planning for the hew home that 
shall be their joy for the coming summer. 
In the early springtime not only the birds 
and fourfooted creatures become vocal, tell- 
ing their joy to the world, but also the 
bursting buds and the greening grass seem 
to be whispering a language all their own, 
and so low and sweet that only the finest ear 
can hear. 

One spring twilight the boy was trudging 
homeward across the lonely marsh as usual. 
He had stopped to play with another boy 
who lived near the schoolhouse, so that when 
he reached the loneliest part of the marsh, it 
was already twilight, and soft mist clouds 
were hanging over the lowlands. 

Suddenly the boy stopped to listen and 
almost held his breath in the intensity of the 
moment. He had heard an old familiar note 
and wanted to satisfy himself that his ears 
had not deceived him. 

There it was again, and there was no mis- 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 131 

taking it now, beef, beef, beef. It was a 
strange hoarse cry rather rasping and with- 
out the slightest suggestion of music in it. 
One would have said on hearing it for the 
first time, that it was made by an animal, 
rather than a bird. But the boy had heard 
it before, and knew it was Mr. Woodcock 
and that somewhere out there on the marsh, 
he and Mrs. Woodcock were planning a 
nest. 

Then there was a sudden whirr of wings 
like a penny whistle with a pea in it, and 
Mr. Woodcock shot up, out of the mist and 
went dancing up into the sky, going up in a 
beautiful spiral, as the eagle does, only the 
rings in his spiral, were much smaller than 
those in the eagle's. How joyous and full of 
good spirits his twilight flight was ! Just as 
though his heart was so light that he had to 
go up. Up, up, he went, two hundred feet, 
three, four and five, until the boy could just 
make him out against the dusky sky. Now 
he is zigzagging across the sky parallel to 
the earth, and the whistle of his wings is no 



132 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

longer heard. Now he is corning down in a 
long zigzag coast, light as a bubble. But 
what is that chattering ? Che-at-ter, chatter, 
chit-chee, chatter chit chee, something like 
the chatter of chimney swallows, only many 
times louder and sweeter. Now it is fairly 
poured from the ecstatic throat, the notes 
following so closely upon one another, as to 
be almost one continuous stream. Chatter, 
chit-chee, chee, chee, cheep, cheep, chit, chee. 
Here he comes over the boy's head, so near 
that he could have touched him with the new 
fishing-pole that he cut yesterday. Now the 
mist has swallowed him, but out on the 
marsh you may hear the hoarse cry, more 
like a bleat, than a bird note, "beef, beef, 
beef." 

The boy heaves a deep sigh of satisfaction 
at the sound, and trudges homeward, feeling 
that he too must grow like the rest of the 
world, and be glad like the bird and the 
young lambs. 

But the most interesting thing on the 
marsh was a family that lived in an old 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 133 

water-elm, near the little footbridge, that 
crossed the brook. 

One morning the boy was sitting upon the 
little bridge, breaking off bits of bark, and 
snapping them into the stream. He did this 
just to see if there would come that sudden 
flash of something bright, a swirl in the water 
and then an eddy to tell where the trout had 
jumped. This was the small boy's favorite 
pastime, when he had a minute to spare near 
the brook. 

No trout rose this morning to his sham 
bait, but presently he heard soft wings win- 
nowing the air above him, and looking up 
saw a small beautifully marked duck pass- 
ing directly over his head, and a second later 
it alighted in the old water-elm just below 
the bridge. 

The boy had never seen a duck alight in a 
tree before, but he had read of the duck who 
lives in a tree, and knew at once that this 
must be the wood duck, or summer duck, as 
it is also called. 

The boy was still more interested in this 



134 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

duck when it disappeared in a hole in the 
tree, a few minutes later. He could hear an 
occasional low quack or croak, or murmur 
in the hollow tree, so knew there must be 
another duck inside. Soon the second duck 
came out and flew away to the woods, and 
the boy saw that she was rather smaller 
than the first duck, and not so gaily dressed. 
This was the female. She had gone to the 
woods for some of last year's beechnuts, or 
acorns, or any other kind of nut that she 
could find. Perhaps if she found nuts scarce, 
she would pick up some weed seeds on the 
marsh, before her return. There must be a 
nest, thought the boy, else the two ducks 
would have gone together. The male bird 
had stayed to keep the eggs warm while his 
mate went for her breakfast. He would 
climb up to that hole some morning and see. 
All through the evening thoughts of what 
might be in the bottom of the hole in the old 
water-elm haunted the boy, and he dreamed 
that night of climbing the tree and falling 
into the stream for his pains. 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER PAIL 135 

The next morning on his way to school, he 
examined the tree to see if he could climb it. 
It was dead and almost without limbs and 
looked like quite a proposition. But the boy- 
was all curiosity to know what was going on 
in the hollow, which was about twenty feet 
from the ground, so he got a stone from the 
bed of the stream, and drummed on the old 
stub. 

"Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up," said a 
voice in the tree. It was not a quack, but 
more like a croak, or a whistle. Then the 
boy saw that the beautiful duck whom he 
had first seen the day before was sitting on a 
limb near the hole keeping watch. He looked 
half asleep himself, and the admonition 
might as well have been given him. 

For answer came a low drowsy murmur in 
the hollow stub, which plainly said, " Wake- 
up, yourself. I am all right. What is the 
matter anyhow ? " 

The beams of the morning sun fell full 
upon the little drake who was apparently 
keeping watch in the tree and the boy thought 



136 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

he had never seen a more beautiful bird. 
He was a small duck, about eighteen inches 
from the end of his bill to the tip of his tail. 
His head and crest were metallic green and 
purple, which colors refracted the sunlight 
in many rainbow hues. About his eyes were 
some white spectacles, and he wore a white 
necktie. His underside, of which the boy 
had a good view, was chestnut and white 
and in front of each shoulder was a black 
and white crescent. His wings were largely 
purple and green, like his head, and when 
he flew the sunlight played upon them gor- 
geously. 

The boy discovered the following day, when 
he climbed up and peeped into the hole, that 
the female was not as brilliant as her mate, 
being brown and gray, and very modest in 
her appearance. 

Each morning the boy shinned up on a 
pole borrowed from a neighboring fence and 
peeped into the hollow to see how things 
were getting on. The first morning he dis- 
covered that there were six creamy eggs, 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 137 

about the size of small hens' eggs, only they 
were more pointed than the hen's eggs, and 
as near as he could make out, there was a 
new egg laid each day until there were thir- 
teen or fourteen. Sometimes the little drake 
was keeping watch in the tree and would cry 
"Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up," but when 
the boy began climbing the tree he would fly 
away, though he did not seem to be much 
afraid. The female duck always stayed on 
the nest after the first morning. When the 
eggs were all laid they were covered with 
down which looked as though it came from 
Mr. Wood Duck's breast. 

Frequently the boy would see Mrs. Wood 
Duck flying away to the woods or just re- 
turning and then he would know that 
her mate had been keeping the eggs 
warm. 

He did not know just when the eggs 
hatched, for the farmer claimed his fence 
pole and this broke up the habit of climbing 
into the tree each morning on the way to 
school, but finally when he got another pole 



138 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

and climbed up, the eggs were all gone but 
one and the nest was empty. 

How the little ducklings ever got down to 
the water was another mystery, but an old 
hunter told the boy that the mother duck 
usually carried the little ones down to the 
water in her bill, taking them one at a time, 
by the wing, or their little red webbed feet. 

About a week after the disappearance of 
the ducks from the old water elm, the boy 
discovered the whole family in a large pool 
further down stream, all swimming about 
and having the finest kind of a time. Both 
of the old ducks were with the brood caring 
for them, but the ducklings seemed very 
active, swimming and nibbling away at water- 
grass and in all ways appearing quite like 
their elders. 

One day the boy discovered a bloodthirsty 
mink gliding along the bank, intently watch- 
ing the duck family. He hurried to a neigh- 
bor's house and borrowed a gun and kept 
guard over his precious ducklings for three 
hours until this fierce water-weasel again 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 139 

appeared when he shot it, and the ducks 
were rescued from a grave peril. 

After school closed the boy did not have 
occasion to use the unfrequented road across 
the marsh and through the meadows where 
the duck family lived, but he occasionally 
went around that way just to see how they 
were getting on. As the summer advanced 
they were seen less and less often on the 
stream and more frequently along the edge 
of the woods. Finally in September they 
lived almost entirely in the woods, only 
going to the water when they felt the need of 
a swim and a bath and some water-grass 
diet, with which to vary their regular break- 
fast and supper of acorns. 

The boy never knew just when Mr. and 
Mrs. Wood Duck led their handsome family 
on that long flight southward, but he never 
saw them after about the first of October. 

Probably they went in the night, as so 
many birds of passage do, when the dusky 
mantle shields them from curious eyes. Per- 
haps if he had been standing at the little 



140 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

bridge just at dusk he might have heard 
them winnowing by overhead, uttering their 
soft call notes. But this glimpse of them, if 
he had been lucky enough to have had it, 
would have been very fleeting. 

But one thing is certain, he never passed 
the little footbridge and the old hollow water- 
elm but he thought of the little drake who 
had watched in the tree and advised his mate 
of danger. 

Even if the old tree was forsaken now, and 
the marsh lonely and desolate, perhaps they 
would come back again in the spring, when 
Whistle-wings, the woodcock, would dance 
his love dance in the twilight sky, and the 
hoarse cry of the jacksnipe would be heard 
in the land. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE TALE OF A TURTLE 

It was a pleasant afternoon in August, 
with just enough haze to subdue the sunlight 
and give warm, rich color to the landscape. 
The day was more like Indian summer than 
August, so tender was the sky and so hazy 
was the atmosphere. Bass were not biting, 
but what cared I as long as the blue sky was 
above me, the fresh green earth at my feet, 
and the sweet air in my nostrils. 

There were other things to be interested in 
that summer afternoon besides bass ; so I sat 
under the old birch and trailed my line heed- 
lessly in the water, dreaming a sweet day- 
dream while the silver-footed moments slipped 
noiselessly by, all unconscious of the joys 
they held. From across the stream came the 

musical tinkle of a cowbell, reminding me of 
141 



142 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

boyhood and driving cows to pasture through 
the dew-laden grass where the clover smelled 
so sweet when you stirred it. I could almost 
smell it now across the gap of some twenty- 
five years. 

The stream lapped the roots of the old 
black birch with a low pleasant sound, and 
the wind sighed softly in the tree-top. All 
was restful and quiet. Each hour seemed 
cut from the calendar and hung like a golden 
apple, ripe and ready for plucking. 

Then I leaned back against the rough trunk 
of the tree, rested my rod across my knee, 
while the winds and the water crooned a 
pleasant lullaby, and Mother Earth invited 
me to rest. Somehow it all seemed familiar, 
like a leaf out of an old dog-eared book. Was 
it my mother's crooning and the warm human 
breast I remembered ? I know not, but the 
day and the hour did their work and I slipped 
into the realm of mystery. 

" Having any luck, Mister?" asked an 
odd little voice at my feet. I looked down 
in surprise, for I had not imagined any one 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 143 

about, but could see no one who could be ad- 
dressing me. Then a large round something 
in the grass on the bank moved, and I saw a 
green turtle about the size of a milk pan eye- 
ing me curiously. 

" Getting any fish ? " asked the queer 
voice again. I started. 

" What, were you speaking ? v I asked in 
astonishment, for I had never heard a turtle 
talk before. " I wasn't aware that any one 
was about." 

" Maybe you don't consider me any one," 
said the turtle ironically, " but there are 
others who do. Why, there are cooks down 
in New York who would laugh with glee at 
the very sight of me. I am considered one 
of the choicest delicacies ever set upon the 
table. That is why I have to look out for 
my shell. I am what you people call a hard- 
shell, hard outside but soft inside. That is 
better than being soft outside and hard in- 
side," and the turtle winked knowingly at 
me. 

u Have you always lived here ? " I asked. 



144 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

The deep hole under the old black birch was 
a favorite fishing spot of mine, and I did not 
remember ever having seen so fine a specimen 
of the turtle family there before. 

The turtle laughed a dry little laugh and 
looked very scornfully at me as he replied, 
" I guess yon don't know much about the 
turtle family." " Why, I have an ancestor 
in the Isle of Wight who is known to be 
many hundred years old. Even I have seen 
seven or eight generations of your race come 
and go and I am still hale and hearty and 
sure to outlive you, my fisherman friend. 
Do you know, I have been having great 
sport with you this summer, by nipping your 
worms from the hook when you were fishing 
with a bob. You thought it was bass, and 
that made me snicker. I might tell you all 
about that big bass that you nearly landed. 
What a joke it would be if you had merely 
hooked into my shell ! " 

I blushed and looked sheepish. That big 
bass which I had nearly landed had been a 
favorite yarn of mine and I was thinking of 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 145 

writing up the incident for a sporting paper, 
but now it would not do. 

" Where did you come from if you have 
not always lived here ? " I asked, for I was 
getting interested in what seemed to be a 
remarkable turtle. 

" Why, I was born at Leyden," he replied, 
"I was one of several million eggs that my 
mother left in the sand, but the rest were all 
gobbled up by an otter." 

" How did you get here ? " I queried. 

" It is a rather long story," said the turtle, 
" but I will tell you if you wish. You need 
not bother about your line ; you will not get 
any bites now I am on the bank. 

" I was found by a Leyden goldsmith when 

I was a baby turtle, about as big as a silver 

dollar, and he kept me for two years in a 

glass globe and was very proud of me. The 

customers used to peer in to see me, and I 

was quite as much of a curiosity as the green 

parrot in the window. But finally, I got so 

large that I could not be kept in the globe 

and then the goldsmith let me go, putting 
10 



146 2!&0 LITTLE WATEk-FOLKS 

me down among the wharves, where I picked 
up a good living. 

" By the time I was twenty years old, I 
had grown to be quite a respectable turtle. 
I was not like the rest of the family, for I 
was given to wondering what was doing in 
the great watery world about me and on the 
dry, hot land. Most turtles simply eat any- 
thing that comes their way and bask in the 
sun the rest of the time. But I wanted to 
know more about the world. I used to won- 
der about the great ships that were always 
coming and going. So finally one day, when 
the wharves were pretty well deserted, I 
climbed up to the gang plank of a ship and 
went aboard her* I was waddling about on 
the deck having a fine time, when I fell into 
a deep hole and went rolling and tumbling 
clear to the bottom of the ship. I kept 
pretty quiet for two or three days ; in fact, I 
could do little else, for I could not get out of 
the hole. But by and by I felt the ship 
moving and that interested me. Things 
went on very well for about a month and I 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 147 

was quite happy, for now I was traveling, 
something that I had always wanted to do. 
But one day a man came down into the 
bottom of the ship after something and 
discovered me. 

" i Hello, my fine fellow,' he cried, catch- 
ing me up by the tail. ' Here is a find. I 
will take you to the galley and we will have 
turtle soup for dinner.' 

" Cookie was tickled enough when he saw 
me, and I thought my day had come. I was 
perched upon a great table awaiting my fate, 
when a dignified white-haired man wearing 
a long black coat, entered. 

" ' What have you here, Thomas ? ' he asked 
pointing to me. 

" ' That's our dinner,' replied Cookie with 
a laugh. 

" ' You will have to kill him, won't you ? ' 
asked the man in the black coat. 

"'Why, of course, Elder,' said the cook. 
' You didn't think I would boil him alive.' 

" ' Certainly not/ replied the grave one, 
1 but I do not think it will do. If we spill 



148 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

blood upon this ship, we shall not be pros- 
pered. Turtle soup would make our humble 
rations relish, but we must not risk it. We 
are on a long and hazardous journey and 
must have a care.' 

" So I escaped." 

" Did you ever learn the name of the ship ? n 
I asked, now being thoroughly interested in 
the turtle's story. 

"Of course," he replied. "You didn't 
think I would cross the Atlantic in a ship 
and not learn her name. It was the May- 
flower, and my preserver was Elder Brew- 
ster." 

"Impossible," I gasped. "You do not 
mean to tell me that you are nearly three 
hundred years old." 

" Certainly I am," replied the turtle, " and 
probably three hundred and twenty-five years 
would be nearer my age. You know the 
turtle family is noted for long life." 

"I do not believe it," I replied, "you are 
spinning me a fish story." 

"Just turn me over then, and see what 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 149 

you see," he rejoined. I did as I was told 
and saw the letters " E. B." and the numerals 
1628. 

"What does that stand for," I asked, for 
I did not at first catch the significance of the 
lettering. 

" Elder Brewster, 1628," replied the turtle. 
" He marked me when he let me go. I was 
a young turtle then, but now I am getting 
old. I used to have the name of the gold- 
smith who kept me in the glass globe at 
Leyden on my shell, but as my shell grew, it 
was obliterated." 

"How did you get here?" I queried. 
"This is the Connecticut." 

w I came up in an English ship, which was 
fired on by the Dutch at Hartford, but we 
took possession of the land and have kept it 
ever since. I suppose I ought to be a Dutch 
turtle, but I have always been with the Eng- 
lish so much that I call myself English." 

" What other adventures have you had ? " 
I asked. " You seem to be the most remark- 
able turtle I have ever known." 



150 THE LITTLE WATER-FOLKS 

"Well, I got aboard a flat-boat one day 
and was going to the Sound, but I heard the 
men talking about letting the ship that they 
were going to meet take me to New York, 
and sell me to a restaurant. So I slipped 
overboard and gave up going to sea. Then 
about fifty years ago, when they were build- 
ing the great dam at Holyoke, I got my shell 
cracked. That laid me up for quite a spell, 
but it finally grew together and I am quite 
as good as new." 

" I believe you are a monstrous story 
teller/' I said solemnly, when the turtle had 
concluded his story. 

"Well, you are another," he retorted. 
"Didn't you tell about hooking a big bass, 
when it was nothing but my shell ? 

"Look out, I really believe you have got 
a bite, and me out of the water too ; I shall 
have to investigate," and he slipped down 
the bank towards the water. 

"Hold on," I cried, "I want to ask you 
more questions. Did you really — " here the 
tugging at the pole became so vigorous that 




i DROPPED MY POLE AND SPRANG FOR HIM. 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 151 

I aroused myself and gave the line a slight 
jerk to hook my fish. Where was the turtle ? 
Had it been a dream ? Or was it a waking 
reality ? 

I looked along the bank. The green mot- 
tled back of a huge turtle was just slipping 
into the water. I dropped my pole and 
sprang for him. A look at the under side of 
his shell again, and then I would know. But 
I was too late. Although I waded to the 
top of my hip boots, and thrust my arm into 
the water to the elbow, the black shape 
slipped away into the deep water and only a 
few bubbles told where this most remarkable 
turtle had gone. 

It was too bad. I should never know. It 
would always remain a mystery. 

THE END. 



JL 16 1907 



